M 


TUBAL  CAIN 


THE    WORKS   OF 
JOSEPH    HERGESHEIMER 

NOVELS 

THE  LAY  ANTHONY  [1914] 

MOUNTAIN  BLOOD   [1915] 

THE  THREE  BLACK  PENNYS   [1917] 

JAVA  HEAD   [1918] 

LINDA   CONDON    [1919] 

CYTHEREA    [1922] 

THE  BRIGHT   SHAWL   [In  preparation] 

SHORTER  STORIES 

WILD  ORANGES    [1918] 
TUBAL  CAIN   [1918] 
THE  DARK  FLEECE  [1918] 
THE  HAPPY  END   [1919] 

TRAVEL 

SAN   CRISTOBAL  DE   LA  HABANA   [1920] 


NEW  YORK:    ALFRED  A.  KNOPF 


TUBAL  CAIN 


JOSEPH  HERGESHEIMER 


NEW  YORK 

ALFRED'A'KNOPF 

1922 


COPYRIGHT,  1918,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  INC. 


Published,  April,  1918,  in  a  volume  now  out  of  print, 
entitled  "Gold  and  Iron,"  and  then  reprinted  twice. 

First  published  separately,  March,  1922 


Set  up,  electrotvped,  and  printed  by  the  Vail-Ballou  Co.,  Binghamton,  N,  Y. 
Paper  supplied  by  W.  F.  Ether ington  ,t  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 
Bound  &i/  the  Plimpton  Press,  Norwood,  Mass. 


MANUFACTURED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  Or  AMERICA 


TUBAL  CAIN 


528G35 


ALEXANDER  HULINGS  sat  at  the  dingy, 
green-baize  covered  table,  with  one  slight 
knee  hung  loosely  over  the  other,  and  his 
tenuous  fingers  lightly  gripping  the  time-polished 
wooden  arms  of  a  hickory  chair.  He  was  staring 
somberly,  with  an  immobile,  thin,  dark  counte 
nance,  at  the  white  plaster  wall  before  him.  Close 
by  his  right  shoulder  a  window  opened  on  a  tran 
quil  street,  where  the  vermilion  maple  buds  were 
splitting;  and  beyond  the  window  a  door  was  ajar 
on  a  plank  sidewalk.  Some  shelves  held  crumbling 
yellow  calf -bound  volumes,  a  few  new,  with  glazed 
black  labels;  at  the  back  was  a  small  cannon  stove, 
with  an  elbow  of  pipe  let  into  the  plaster;  a  large 
steel  engraving  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall  hung  on 
the  wall;  and  in  a  farther  corner  a  careless  pile  of 
paper,  folded  in  dockets  or  tied  with  casual  string, 
was  collecting  a  grey  film  of  neglect.  A  small 
banjo  clock,  with  a  brass-railed  pediment  and  an 
elongated  picture  in  color  of  the  Exchange  at  Man 
chester,  traced  the  regular,  monotonous  passage  of 
minutes  into  hour. 

The  hour  extended,  doubled;  but  Alexander  Hu- 
lings  barely  -shifted  a  knee,  a  hand.  At  times  a 
slight  convulsive  shudder  passed  through  his  shoul- 

[7] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

ders,  but  without  affecting  his  position  or  the 
concentrated  gloom.  Occasionally  he  swallowed 
dryly;  his  grip  momentarily  tightened  on  the 
chair,  but  his  gaze  was  level.  The  afternoon 
waned ;  a  sweet  breath  of  flowering  magnolia  drifted 
in  at  the  door;  the  light  grew  tender;  and  footfalls 
without  sounded  far  away.  Suddenly  Hulings 
moved :  his  chair  scraped  harshly  over  the  bare  floor 
and  he  strode  abruptly  outside,  where  he  stood  fac 
ing  a  small  tin  sign  nailed  near  the  door.  It  read: 

ALEXANDER  HULINGS 
COUNSELOR  AT  LAW 

With  a  violent  gesture,  unpremeditated  even  by 
himself,  he  forced  his  hand  under  an  edge  of  the 
sign  and  ripped  it  from  its  place.  Then  he  went 
back  and  flung  it  bitterly,  with  a  crumpling  impact, 
away  from  him,  and  resumed  his  place  at  the  table. 

It  was  the  end  of  that!  He  had  practiced  law 
seven,  nine,  years,  detesting  its  circuitous  trivialities, 
uniformly  failing  to  establish  a  professional  success, 
without  realizing  his  utter  legal  unfitness.  Before 
him  on  a  scrap  of  paper  were  the  figures  of  his  past 
year's  activities.  He  had  made  something  over  nine 
hundred  dollars.  And  he  was  thirty-four  years 
old!  Those  facts,  seen  together,  dinned  failure  in 
his  brain.  There  were  absolutely  no  indications  of 
a  brighter  future.  Two  other  actualities  added  to 
the  gloom  of  his  thoughts:  one  was  Hallie  Flower; 

[8] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

that  would  have  to  be  encountered  at  once,  this 
evening;  and  the  other  was — his  health. 

He  was  reluctant  to  admit  any  question  of  the 
latter;  he  had  the  feeling,  almost  a  superstition, 
that  such  an  admission  enlarged  whatever,  if  any 
thing,  was  the  matter  with  him.  It  was  vague,  but 
increasingly  disturbing;  he  had  described  it  with 
difficulty  to  Doctor  Veneada,  his  only  intimate 
among  the  Eastlake  men,  as  a  sensation  like  that  a 
fiddlestring  might  experience  when  tightened  re 
morselessly  by  a  blundering  hand. 

"At  any  minute,"  he  had  said,  "the  damned  thing 
must  go!" 

Veneada  had  frowned  out  of  his  whiskers. 

"What  you  need,"  the  doctor  had  decided,  "is  a 
complete  change.  You  are  strung  up.  Go  away. 
Forget  the  law  for  two  or  three  months.  The  Min 
eral  is  the  place  for  you." 

Alexander  Hulings  couldn't  afford  a  month 
or  more  at  the  Mineral  Spring;  and  he  had  said  so 
with  the  sharpness  that  was  one  of  the  annoying 
symptoms  of  his  condition.  He  had  had  several 
letters,  though,  throughout  a  number  of  years,  from 
James  Claypole,  a  cousin  of  his  mother,  asking  him 
out  to  Tubal  Cain,  the  iron  forge  which  barely 
kept  Claypole  alive;  and  he  might  manage  that — if 
it  were  not  for  Hallie  Flower.  There  the  con 
versation  had  come  to  an  inevitable  conclusion. 

Now,  in  a  flurry  of  violence  that  was,  neverthe 
less,  the  expression  of  complete  purpose,  he  had 

[9] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

ended  his  practice,  his  only  livelihood;  and  that 
would — must — end  Hallie. 

He  had  been  engaged  to  her  from  the  day  when, 
together,  they  had,  with  a  pretense  of  formality, 
opened  his  office  in  Eastlake.  He  had  determined 
not  to  marry  until  he  made  a  thousand  dollars  in 
a  year;  and,  as  year  after  year  slipped  by  without 
his  accumulating  that  amount,  their  engagement  had 
come  to  resemble  the  unemotional  contact  of  a  union 
without  sex.  Lately  Hallie  had  seemed  almost  con 
tent  with  duties  in  her  parental  home  and  the  three 
evenings  weekly  that  Alexander  spent  with  her  in 
the  formal  propriety  of  a  front  room. 

His  own  feelings  defied  analysis;  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that,  frankly  surveyed,  even  his  love  for  Hallie 
Flower  had  been  swallowed  up  in  the  tide  of  irrita 
bility  rising  about  him.  He  felt  no  active  sorrow 
at  the  knowledge  that  he  was  about  to  relinquish  all 
claim  upon  her;  his  pride  stirred  resentfully;  the 
evening  promised  to  be  uncomfortable — but  that 
was  all. 

The  room  swam  about  him  in  a  manner  that  had 
grown  hatefully  familiar;  he  swayed  in  his  chair; 
and  his  hands  were  at  once  numb  with  cold  and 
wet  with  perspiration.  A  sinking  fear  fastened  on 
him,  an  inchoate  dread  that  he  fought  bitterly.  It 
wasn't  death  from  which  Alexander  Hulings  shud 
dered,  but  a  crawling  sensation  that  turned  his  knees 
to  dust.  He  was  a  slight  man,  with  narrow  shoul 
ders  and  close-swinging  arms,  but  as  rigidly  erect 

[10] 


TUBAL   CAIN 

as  an  iron  bar;  his  mentality  was  like  that  too,  and 
he  particularly  detested  the  variety  of  nerves  that 
had  settled  on  him. 

A  form  blocked  the  doorway,  accentuating  the 
dusk  that  had  swiftly  gathered  in  the  office,  and 
Veneada  entered.  His  neckcloth  was,  as  always, 
carelessly  folded,  and  his  collar  hid  in  rolls  of 
fat;  a  cloak  was  thrown  back  from  a  wide  girth, 
and  he  wore  an  incongruous  pair  of  buff  linen 
trousers. 

"What's  this — mooning  in  the  dark?"  he  de 
manded.  "Thought  you  hadn't  locked  the  office 
door.  Come  out;  fill  your  lungs  with  the  spring 
and  your  stomach  with  supper." 

Without  reply,  Alexander  Hulings  followed  the 
other  into  the  street. 

"I  am  going  to  Hallie's,"  he  said  in  response  to 
Veneada's  unspoken  query. 

Suddenly  he  felt  that  he  must  conclude  everything 
at  once  and  get  away;  where  and  from  what  he 
didn't  know.  It  was  not  his  evening  to  see  Hallie 
and  she  would  be  surprised  when  he  came  up  on 
the  step.  The  Flowers  had  supper  at  five ;  it  would 
be  over  now,  and  Hallie  finished  with  the  dishes  and 
free.  Alexander  briefly  told  Veneada  his  double 
decision. 

"In  a  way,"  the  other  said,  "I'm  glad.  You 
must  get  away  for  a  little  anyway;  and  you  are 
accomplishing  nothing  here  in  Eastlake.  You  are 
a  rotten  lawyer,  Alexander;  any  other  man  would 

[in 


TUBAL    CAIN 

have  quit  long  ago;  but  your  infernal  stubbornness 
held  you  to  it.  You  are  not  a  small-town  man. 
You  see  life  in  a  different,  a  wider  way.  And  if 
you  could  only  come  on  something  where  your  pig- 
headedness  counted  there's  no  saying  where  you'd 
reach.  I'm  sorry  for  Hallie;  she's  a  nice  woman, 
and  you  could  get  along  well  enough  on  nine 
hundred " 

"I  said  I'd  never  marry  until  I  made  a  thousand 
in  a  year,"  Hulings  broke  in,  exasperated. 

"Good  heavens!  Don't  I  know  that?"  Veneada 
replied.  "And  you  won't,  you — you  mule!  I 
guess  I've  suffered  enough  from  your  confounded 
character  to  know  what  it  means  when  you  say  a 
thing.  I  think  you're  right  about  this.  Go  up  to 
that  fellow  Claypole  and  show  him  what  brittle 
stuff  iron  is  compared  to  yourself.  Seriously,  Alex, 
get  out  and  work  like  the  devil  at  a  heavy  job;  go 
to  bed  with  your  back  ruined  and  your  hands  raw. 
You  know  I'll  miss  you — means  a  lot  to  me,  best 
friend." 

A  deep  embarrassment  was  visible  on  Veneada; 
it  was  communicated  to  Alexander  Hulings,  and  he 
was  relieved  when  they  drew  opposite  the  Flowers' 
dwelling. 

It  was  a  narrow,  high  brick  structure,  with  a 
portico  cap,  supported  by  cast-iron  grilling,  and 
shallow  iron-railed  balconies  on  the  second  story. 
A  gravel  path  divided  a  small  lawn  beyond  a  gate 

[12] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

guarded  by  two  stone  greyhounds.  Hallie  emerged 
from  the  house  with  an  expression  of  mild  inquiry 
at  his  unexpected  appearance.  She  was  a  year 
older  than  himself,  an  erect,  thin  woman,  with  a 
pale  coloring  and  unstirred  blue  eyes. 

"Why,  Alex,"  she  remarked,  "whatever  brought 
you  here  on  a  Saturday?"  They  sat,  without 
further  immediate  speech,  from  long  habit,  in 
familiar  chairs. 

He  wondered  how  he  was  going  to  tell  her.  And 
the  question,  the  difficulty,  roused  in  him  an  aston 
ishing  amount  of  exasperation.  He  regarded  her 
almost  vindictively,  with  covertly  shut  hands.  He 
must  get  hold  of  himself.  Hallie,  to  whom  he  was 
about  to  do  irreparable  harm,  the  kindest  woman  in 
existence !  But  he  realized  that  whatever  feeling  he 
had  had  for  her  was  gone  for  ever;  she  had  become 
merged  indistinguishably  into  the  thought  of  East- 
lake;  and  every  nerve  in  him  demanded  a  total 
separation  from  the  slumbrous  town  that  had  wit 
nessed  his  legal  failure. 

He  wasn't,  he  knew,  normal;  his  intention  here 
was  reprehensible,  but  he  was  without  will  to  defeat 
it.  Alexander  Hulings  felt  the  clumsy  hand  draw 
ing  tighter  the  string  he  had  pictured  himself  as 
being;  an  overwhelming  impulse  overtook  him  to 
rush  away — anywhere,  immediately.  He  said  in 
a  rapid  blurred  voice: 

"Hallie,  this  .  .  .  our  plans  are  a  failure. 
[13] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

That  is,  I  am.  The  law's  been  no  good;  I  mean, 
I  haven't.  Can't  get  the  hang  of  the — the 
damned " 

"Alex!"  she  interrupted,  astonished  at  the  exple 
tive. 

"I'm  going  away,"  he  gabbled  on,  only  half  con 
scious  of  his  words  in  waves  of  giddy  insecurity. 
"Yes;  for  good.  I'm  no  use  here!  Shot  to  pieces, 
somehow.  Forgive  me.  Can't  get  a  thousand." 

Hallie  Flower  said  in  a  tone  of  unpremeditated 
surprise : 

"Then  I'll  never  be  married!" 

She  sat  with  her  hands  open  in  her  lap,  a  wist- 
fulness  on  her  countenance  that  he  found  only  silly. 
He  cursed  himself,  his  impotence,  bitterly.  Now 
he  wanted  to  get  away ;  but  there  remained  an  almost 
more  impossible  consummation — Hallie's  parents. 
They  were  old;  she  was  an  only  child. 

"Your  father "  he  muttered. 

On  his  feet  he  swayed  like  a  pendulum.  Vise- 
like  fingers  gripped  at  the  back  of  his  neck.  The 
hand  of  death?  Incredibly  he  lived  through  a 
stammering,  racking  period,  in  the  midst  of  which 
a  cuckoo  ejaculated  seven  idiotic  notes  from  the 
fretted  face  of  a  clock. 

He  was  on  the  street  again;  the  cruel  pressure 
was  relaxed;  he  drew  a  deep  breath.  In  his  room, 
a  select  chamber  with  a  "private"  family,  he  packed 
and  strapped  his  small  leather  trunk.  There  was 
nowhere  among  his  belongings  a  suggestion  of  any 

[14] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

souvenir  of  the  past,  anything  sentimental  or  charged 
with  memory.  A  daguerreotype  of  Hallie  Flower, 
in  an  embossed  black  case  lined  with  red  plush,  he 
ground  into  a  shapeless  fragment.  Afterward  he 
was  shocked  by  what  he  had  done  and  was  forced  to 
seek  the  support  of  a  chair.  He  clenched  his  jaw, 
gazed  with  stony  eyes  against  the  formless  dread 
about  him. 

He  had  forgotten  that  the  next  day  was  Sunday, 
with  a  corresponding  dislocation  of  the  train  and 
packet  service  which  was  to  take  him  West.  A 
further  wait  until  Monday  was  necessary.  Alex 
ander  Hulings  got  through  that  too ;  and  was  finally 
seated  with  Veneada  in  his  light  wagon,  behind  a 
clattering  pair  of  young  Hambletonians,  with  the 
trunk  secured  in  the  rear.  Veneada  was  taking  him 
to  a  station  on  the  Columbus  Railroad.  Though 
the  morning  had  hardly  advanced,  and  Hulings  had 
wrapped  himself  in  a  heavy  cape,  the  doctor  had 
only  a  duster,  unbuttoned,  on  his  casual  clothing. 

"You  know,  Alex,"  the  latter  said — "and  let  me 
finish  before  you  start  to  object — that  I  have  more 
money  than  I  can  use.  And,  though  I  know  you 
wouldn't  just  borrow  any  for  cigars,  if  there  ever 
comes  a  time  when  you  need  a  few  thousands,  if4 
you  happen  on  something  that  looks  good  for  both 
of  us,  don't  fail  to  let  me  know.  You'll  pull  out 
of  this  depression;  I  think  you're  a  great  man, 
Alex — because  you  are  so  unpleasant,  if  for  nothing 
else." 

[15] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

The  doctor's  weighty  hand  fell  affectionately  on 
Hillings'  shoulder. 

Hulings  involuntarily  moved  from  the  other's 
contact;  he  wanted  to  leave  all — all  of  Eastlake. 
Once  away,  he  was  certain,  his  being  would  clarify, 
grow  more  secure.  He  even  neglected  to  issue  a 
characteristic  abrupt  refusal  of  Veneada's  implied 
offer  of  assistance;  though  all  that  he  possessed, 
now  strapped  in  his  wallet,  was  a  meager  provision 
for  a  debilitated  man  who  had  cast  safety  behind 
him. 

The  doctor  pulled  his  horses  in  beside  a  small, 
boxlike  station,  on  flat  wooden  tracks,  dominated 
by  a  stout  pole,  to  which  was  nailed  a  ladderlike 
succession  of  cross  blocks. 

Alexander  Hulings  was  infinitely  relieved  when 
the  other,  after  some  last  professional  injunctions, 
drove  away.  Already,  he  thought,  he  felt  better; 
and  he  watched,  with  a  faint  stirring  of  normal 
curiosity,  the  station  master  climb  the  pole  and  sur 
vey  the  mid-distance  for  the  approaching  train. 

The  engine  finally  rolled  fussily  into  view,  with 
a  lurid  black  column  of  smoke  pouring  from  a 
thin  belled  stack,  and  dragging  a  rocking,  precari 
ous  brigade  of  chariot  coaches  scrolled  in  bright 
yellow  and  staring  blue.  It  stopped,  with  a  fretful 
ringing  and  grinding  impact  of  coach  on  coach. 
Alexander  Hulings'  trunk  was  shouldered  to  a  roof; 
and  after  an  inspection  of  the  close  interiors  he 
followed  his  baggage  to  an  open  seat  above.  The 

[16] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

engine  gathered  momentum;  he  was  jerked  rudely 
forward  and  blinded  by  a  cloud  of  smoke  streaked 
with  flaring  cinders. 

There  was  a  faint  cry  at  his  back,  and  he  saw  a 
woman  clutching  a  charring  hole  in  her  crinoline. 
The  railroad  journey  was  an  insuperable  torment; 
the  diminishing  crash  at  the  stops,  either  at  a 
station  or  where  cut  wood  was  stacked  *to  fire  the 
engine,  the  choking  hot  waves  of  smoke,  the  shouted 
confabulations  between  the  captain  and  the  engineer, 
forward  on  his  precarious  ledge — all  added  to  an 
excruciating  torture  of  Hulings'  racked  and  shud 
dering  nerves.  His  rigid  body  was  thrown  from 
side  to  side;  his  spine  seemed  at  the  point  of  splin 
tering  from  the  pounding  of  the  rails. 

An  utter  mental  dejection  weighed  down  his 
shattered  being;  it  was  not  the  past  but  the  future 
that  oppressed  him.  Perhaps  he  was  going  only 
to  die  miserably  in  an  obscure  hole;  Veneada  prob 
ably  wouldn't  tell  him  the  truth  about  his  condition. 
What  he  most  resented,  with  a  tenuous  spark  of  his 
customary  obstinate  spirit,  was  the  thought  of  never 
justifying  a  belief  he  possessed  in  his  ultimate 
power  to  conquer  circumstance,  to  be  greatly  suc 
cessful. 

Veneada,  a  man  without  flattery,  had  himself 
used  that  word  "great"  in  connection  with  him. 

Alexander  Hulings  felt  dimly,  even  now,  a 
sense  of  cold  power;  a  hunger  for  struggle  different 
from  a  petty  law  practice  in  Eastlake.  He  thought 

[17] 


TUB  At   CAIN 

of  the  iron  that  James  Claypole  unsuccessfully 
wrought;  and  something  in  the  word,  its  implied 
obduracy,  fired  his  disintegrating  mind.  "Iron!" 
Unconsciously  he  spoke  the  word  aloud.  He  was 
entirely  ignorant  of  what,  exactly,  it  meant,  what 
were  the  processes  of  its  fluxing  and  refinement; 
forge  and  furnace  were  hardly  separated  in  his 
thoughts.  But  out  of  the  confusion  emerged  the 
one  concrete  stubborn  fact — iron! 

He  was  drawn,  at  last,  over  a  level  grassy  plain, 
at  the  far  edge  of  which  evening  and  clustered 
houses  merged  on  a  silver  expanse  of  river.  It  was 
Columbus,  where  he  found  the  canal  packets  lying 
in  the  terminal-station  basin. 


[18] 


II 


THE  westbound  packet,  the  Hit  or  Miss,  started 
with  a  long  horn  blast  and  the  straining  of 
the  mules  at  the  towrope.  The  canal  boat 
slipped  into  its  placid  banked*  waterway.  Supper 
was  being  laid  in  the  gentlemen?s  cabin,  and  Alex 
ander  Hulings  was  unable  to  secure  a  berth.  The 
passengers  crowded  at  a  single  long  table;  and  the 
low  interior,  steaming  with  food,  echoing  with  clat 
tering  china  and  a  ceaseless  gabble  of  voices,  con 
fused  him  intolerably.  He  made  his  way  to  the 
open  space  at  the  rear.  The  soundless,  placid  move 
ment  at  once  soothed  him  and  was  exasperating  in 
its  slowness.  He  thought  of  his  journey  as  an  es 
cape,  an  emergence  from  a  suffocating  cloud;  and 
he  raged  at  its  deliberation. 

The  echoing  note  of  a  cornet- a- piston  sounded 
from  the  deck  above;  it  was  joined  by  the  rattle  of 
a  drum;  and  an  energetic  band  swept  into  the  strains 
of  Zip  Coon.  The  passengers  emerged  from  supper 
and  gathered  on  the  main  deck;  the  gayly  lighted 
windows  streamed  in  moving  yellow  bars  over  dark 
banks  and  fields;  and  they  were  raised  or  lowered 
on  the  pouring  black  tide  of  masoned  locks.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  the  infernal  persistence  of  the 
band,  Alexander  Hulings  would  have  been  almost 

[19] 


TUBAL   CAIN 

comfortable;  but  the  music,  at  midnight,  showed  no 
signs  of  abating.  Money  was  collected,  whisky 
distributed;  a  quadrille  formed  forward.  Hulings 
could  see  the  women's  crinolines,  the  great  sleeves 
and  skirts,  dipping  and  floating  in  a  radiance  of 
oil  torches.  He  had  a  place  in  a  solid  bank  of 
chairs  about  the  outer  rail,  and  sat  huddled  in  his 
cape.  His  misery,  as  usual,  increased  with  the 
night;  the  darkness  was  streaked  with  immaterial 
flashes,  disjointed  visions.  He  was  infinitely  weary, 
and  faint  from  a  hunger  that  he  yet  could  not 
satisfy.  A  consequential  male  at  his  side,  past 
middle  age,  with  close  whiskers  and  a  mob  of  seals, 
addressed  a  commonplace  to  him;  but  he  made  no 
reply.  The  other  regarded  Hulings  with  an  arro 
gant  surprise,  then  turned  a  negligent  back.  From 
beyond  came  a  clear,  derisive  peal  of  girlish 
laughter.  He  heard  a  name — Gisela — pronounced. 

Alexander  Hulings'  erratic  thoughts  returned  to 
iron.  He  wondered  vaguely  why  James  Claypole 
had  never  succeeded  with  Tubal  Cain.  Probably, 
like  so  many  others,  he  was  a  drunkard.  The  man 
who  had  addressed  him  moved  away — he  was  ac 
companied  by  a  small  party — and  another  took  his 
vacant  place. 

"See  who  that  was?"  he  asked  Hulings.  The 
latter  shook  his  head  morosely.  "Well,  that,"  the 
first  continued  impressively,  "is  John  Wooddrop." 

Alexander  Hulings  had  an  uncertain  memory  of 

the  name,  connected  with 

[20] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Yes,  sir — John  Wooddrop,  the  Ironmaster.  I 
reckon  that  man  is  the  biggest — not  only  the  richest 
but  the  biggest — man  in  the  state.  Thousands  of 
acres,  mile  after  mile;  iron  banks  and  furnaces  and 
forges  and  mills ;  hundreds  of  men  and  women  .  .  . 
all  his.  Like  a  European  monarch!  Yes,  sir;  re 
sembles  that.  Word's  law — says  'Come  here!'  or 
'Go  there ! '  His  daughter  is  with  him  too,  it's 
clear  she's  got  the  old  boy's  spirit,  and  his  lady. 
They  get  off  at  Harmony;  own  the  valley;  own 
everything  about." 

Harmony  was  the  place  where  Hulings  was  to 
leave  the  canal;  from  there  he  must  drive  to  Tubal 
Cain.  The  vicarious  boastfulness  of  his  neighbor 
stirred  within  him  an  inchoate  antagonism. 

"There  is  one  place  near  by  he  doesn't  own,"  he 
stated  sharply. 

"Then  it's  no  good,"  the  other  promptly  replied. 
"If  it  was,  Wooddrop  would  have  it.  It  would  be 
his  or  nothing — he'd  see  to  that.  His  name  is  Me, 
or  nobody." 

Alexander  Hulings'  antagonism  increased  and 
illogically  fastened  on  the  Ironmaster.  The  other's 
character,  as  it  had  been  stated,  was  precisely  the 
quality  that  called  to  the  surface  his  own  stubborn 
will  of  self-assertion.  It  precipitated  a  condition 
in  which  he  expanded,  grew  determined,  ruthless, 
cold. 

He  imagined  himself,  sick  and  almost  moneyless 
and  bound  for  Claypole's  failure,  opposed  to  John 

[21] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

Wooddrop,  and  got  a  faint  thrill  from  the  fantastic 
vision.  He  had  a  recurrence  of  the  conviction  that 
he,  too,  was  a  strong  man;  and  it  tormented  him 
with  the  bitter  contrast  between  such  an  image  and 
his  actual  present  self.  He  laughed  aloud,  a  thin, 
shaken  giggle,  at  his  belief  persisting  in  the  face  of 
such  irrefutable  proof  of  his  failure.  Neverthe 
less,  it  was  firmly  lodged  in  him,  like  a  thorn  prick 
ing  at  his  dissolution,  gathering  his  scattered 
faculties  into  efforts  of  angry  contempt  at  the 
laudation  of  others. 

Veneada  and  Hallie  Flower,  he  realized,  were  the 
only  intimates  he  had  gathered  in  a  solitary  and 
largely  embittered  existence.  He  had  no  instinctive 
humanity  of  feeling,  and  his  observations,  colored 
by  his  spleen,  had  not  added  to  a  small  opinion  of 
man  at  large.  Always  feeling  himself  to  be  a  figure 
of  supreme  importance,  he  had  never  ceased  to  chafe 
at  the  small  aspect  he  was  obliged  to  exhibit.  This 
mood  had  grown,  through  an  uncomfortable  sense 
of  shame,  to  a  perpetual  disparagement  of  all  other 
triumph  and  success. 

Finally  the  band  ceased  its  efforts,  the  oil  lights 
burned  dim,  and  a  movement  to  the  cabins  pro 
ceeded,  leaving  him  on  a  deserted  deck.  At  last, 
utterly  exhausted,  he  went  below  in  search  of  a 
berth.  They  hung  four  deep  about  the  walls,  partly 
curtained,  while  the  floor  of  the  cabin  was  filled 
with  clothesracks,  burdened  with  a  miscellany  of 
outer  garments.  One  place  only  was  empty — under 

[22] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

the  ceiling;  and  he  made  a  difficult  ascent  to  the  nar 
row  space.  Sleep  was  an  impossibility — a  storm  of 
hoarse  breathing,  muttering,  and  sleepy  oaths  dinned 
on  his  ears.  The  cabin,  closed  against  the  outer 
air,  grew  indescribably  polluted.  Any  former  tor 
ment  of  mind  and  body  was  minor  compared  to  the 
dragging  wakeful  hours  that  followed;  a  dread  of 
actual  insanity  seized  him. 

Almost  at  the  first  trace  of  dawn  the  cabin  was 
awakened  and  filled  with  fragmentary  dressing. 
The  deck  and  bar  were  occupied  by  men  waiting  for 
the  appearance  of  the  feminine  passengers  from 
their  cabin  forward,  and  breakfast.  The  day  was 
warm  and  fine.  The  packet  crossed  a  turgid  river, 
at  the  mouths  of  other  canal  routes,  and  entered  a 
wide  pastoral  valley. 

Alexander  Hulings  sat  facing  a  smaller,  various 
river ;  at  his  back  was  a  barrier  of  mountains,  glossy 
with  early  laurel  and  rhododendron.  His  face  was 
yellow  and  sunken,  and  his  lips  dry.  John  Wood- 
drop  passed  and  repassed  him,  a  girl,  his  daughter 
Gisela,  on  his  arm.  She  wore  an  India  muslin 
dress,  wide  with  crinoline,  embroidered  in  flowers  of 
blue  and  green  worsted,  and  a  flapping  rice-straw 
hat  draped  in  blond  lace.  Her  face  was  pointed 
and  alert. 

Once  Hulings  caught  her  glance,  and  he  saw  that 
her  eyes  seemed  black  and — and — impertinent. 

An  air  of  palpable  satisfaction  emanated  from  the 
Ironmaster.  His  eyes  were  dark  too;  and,  more 

[23] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

than  impertinent,  they  held  for  Hulings  an  intoler 
able  patronage.  John  Wooddrop's  foot  trod  the 
deck  with  a  solid  authority  that  increased  the  sick 
man's  smoldering  scorn.  At  dinner  he  had  an 
actual  encounter  with  the  other.  The  table  was 
filling  rapidly;  Alexander  Hulings  had  taken  a 
place  when  Wooddrop  entered  with  his  group  and 
surveyed  the  seats  that  remained. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  you,"  he  addressed  Hulings 
in  a  deep  voice,  "to  move  over  yonder.  That  will 
allow  my  family  to  surround  me." 

A  sudden  unreasonable  determination  not  to 
move  seized  Hulings.  He  said  nothing;  he  didn't 
turn  his  head  nor  disturb  his  position.  John  Wood- 
drop  repeated  his  request  in  still  more  vibrant  tones. 
Hulings  did  nothing.  He  was  held  in  a  silent 
rigidity  of  position. 

"You,  sir,"  Wooddrop  pronounced  loudly,  "are 
deficient  in  the  ordinary  courtesies  of  travel!  And 
note  this,  Mrs.  Wooddrop" — he  turned  to  his  wife — 
"I  shall  never  again,  in  spite  of  Gisela's  importu 
nities,  move  by  public  conveyance.  The  presence 
of  individuals  like  this " 

Alexander  Hulings  rose  and  faced  the  older,  in 
finitely  more  important  man.  His  sunken  eyes 
blazed  with  such  a  feverish  passion  that  the  other 
raised  an  involuntary  palm. 

"Individuals,"  he  added,  "painfully  afflicted." 

Suddenly  Hulings'  weakness  betrayed  him;  he 
collapsed  in  his  chair  with  a  pounding  heart  and 

[24] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

blurred  vision.  The  incident  receded,  became 
merged  in  the  resumption  of  the  commonplace 
clatter  of  dinner. 

Once  more  on  deck,  Alexander  Hulings  was  aware 
that  he  had  appeared  both  inconsequential  and 
ridiculous,  two  qualities  supremely  detestable  to  his 
pride;  and  this  added  to  his  bitterness  toward  the 
Ironmaster.  He  determined  to  extract  satisfaction 
for  his  humiliation.  It  was  characteristic  of  Hu 
lings  that  he  saw  himself  essentially  as  John  Wood- 
drop's  equal;  worldly  circumstance  had  no  power 
to  impress  him;  he  was  superior  to  the  slightest  trace 
of  the  complacent  inferiority  exhibited  by  last  night's 
casual  informer. 

The  day  waned  monotonously;  half  dazed  with 
weariness  he  heard  bursts  of  music;  far,  meaning 
less  voices;  the  blowing  of  the  packet  horn.  He 
didn't  go  down  again  into  the  cabin  to  sleep,  but 
stayed  wrapped  in  his  cloak  in  a  chair.  He 
slept  through  the  dawn  and  woke  only  at  the 
full  activity  of  breakfast.  Past  noon  the  boat  tied 
up  at  Harmony.  The  Wooddrops  departed  with 
all  the  circumstance  of  worldly  importance  and  in 
the  stir  of  cracking  whip  and  restive,  spirited  horses. 
Alexander  Hulings  moved  unobserved,  with  his 
trunk,  to  the  bank. 

Tubal  Cain,  he  discovered,  was  still  fifteen  miles 
distant,  and — he  had  not  told  James  Claypole  of 
his  intended  arrival — no  conveyance  was  near  by. 
A  wagon  drawn  by  six  mules  with  gay  bells  and 

[25] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

colored  streamers  and  heavily  loaded  with  lime 
stone  finally  appeared,  going  north,  on  which 
Hulings  secured  passage. 

The  precarious  road  followed  a  wooded  ridge, 
with  a  vigorous  stream  on  the  right  and  a  wall  of 
hills  beyond.  The  valley  was  largely  uninhabited. 
Once  they  passed  a  solid,  foursquare  structure  of 
stone,  built  against  a  hill,  with  clustered  wooden 
sheds  and  a  great  wheel  revolving  under  a  smooth 
arc  of  water.  A  delicate  white  vapor  trailed  from 
the  top  of  the  masonry,  accompanied  by  rapid, 
clear  flames. 

"Blue  Lump  Furnace,"  the  wagon  driver  briefly 
volunteered.  "Belongs  to  Wooddrop.  But  that 
doesn't  signify  anything  about  here.  Pretty  near 
everything's  his." 

Alexander  Hulings  looked  back,  with  an  involun 
tary  deep  interest  in  the  furnace.  The  word  "iron" 
again  vibrated,  almost  clanged,  through  his  mind. 
It  temporarily  obliterated  the  fact  that  here  was 
another  evidence  of  the  magnitude,  the  possessions, 
of  John  Wooddrop.  He  was  consumed  by  a  sudden 
anxiety  to  see  James  Claypole's  forge.  Why  hadn't 
the  fool  persisted,  succeeded? 

"Tubal  Cain's  in  there."  The  mules  were 
stopped.  "What  there  is  of  it!  Four  bits  will  be 
enough." 

He  was  left  beside  his  trunk  on  the  roadside, 
clouded  by  the  dust  of  the  wagon's  departure.  Be 
hind  him,  in  the  direction  indicated,  the  ground, 

[26] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

covered  with  underbrush,  fell  away  to  a  glint  of 
water  and  some  obscure  structures.  Dragging  his 
baggage  he  made  his  way  down  to  a  long  wooden 
shed,  the  length  facing  him  open  on  two  covered 
hearths,  some  dilapidated  troughs,  a  suspended 
ponderous  hammer  resting  on  an  anvil,  and  a  mis 
cellaneous  heap  of  rusting  iron  implements — long- 
jawed  tongs,  hooked  rods,  sledges,  and  broken  cast 
ings.  The  hearths  were  cold;  there  was  not  a  stir 
of  life,  of  activity,  anywhere. 

Hulings  left  his  trunk  in  a  clearing  and  explored 
farther.  Beyond  a  black  heap  of  charcoal,  stand 
ing  among  trees,  were  two  or  three  small  stone 
dwellings.  The  first  was  apparently  empty,  with 
some  whitened  sacks  on  a  bare  floor;  but  within  a 
second  he  saw  through  the  open  doorway  the  lank 
figure  of  a  man  kneeling  in  prayer.  His  foot  was 
on  the  sill;  but  the  bowed  figure,  turned  away,  re 
mained  motionless. 

Alexander  Hulings  hesitated,  waiting  for  the 
prayer  to  reach  a  speedy  termination.  But  the 
other,  with  upraised,  quivering  hands,  remained  so 
long  on  his  knees  that  Hulings  swung  the  door  back 
impatiently.  Even  then  an  appreciable  time  elapsed 
before  the  man  inside  rose  to  his  feet.  He  turned 
and  moved  forward,  with  an  abstracted  gaze  in 
pale-blue  eyes  set  in  a  face  seamed  and  scored  by 
time  and  disease.  His  expression  was  benevolent; 
his  voice  warm  and  cordial. 

"I  am  Alexander  Hulings,"  that  individual 
[27] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

briefly  stated;  "and  I  suppose  you're  Claypole." 

The  latter's  condition,  he  thought  instantaneously, 
was  entirely  described  by  his  appearance.  James 
Claypole's  person  was  as  neglected  as  the  forge. 
His  stained  breeches  were  engulfed  in  scarred 
leather  boots,  and  a  coarse  black  shirt  was  open  on 
a  gaunt  chest. 

His  welcome  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  The 
dwelling  into  which  he  conducted  Hulings  consisted 
of  a  single  room,  with  a  small  shed  kitchen  at  the 
rear  and  two  narrow  chambers  above.  There  was 
a  pleasant  absence  of  apology  for  the  meager  ac 
commodations.  James  Claypole  was  an  entirely 
unaffected  and  simple  host. 

The  late  April  evening  was  warm;  and  after  a 
supper,  prepared  by  Claypole,  of  thick  bacon,  pota 
toes  and  saleratus  biscuit,  the  two  men  sat  against 
the  outer  wall  of  the  house.  On  the  left  Hulings 
could  see  the  end  of  the  forge  shed,  with  the  inevi 
table  water  wheel  hung  in  a  channel  cut  from  the 
clear  stream.  The  stream  wrinkled  and  whispered 
along  spongy  banks,  and  a  flicker  hammered  on 
a  resonant  limb.  Hulings  stated  negligently  that 
he  had  arrived  on  the  same  packet  with  John  Wood- 
drop,  and  Claypole  retorted: 

"A  man  lost  in  the  world!  I  tried  to  wrestle 
with  his  spirit,  but  it  was  harder  than  the  walls  of 
Jericho." 

His  eyes  glowed  with  fervor.  Hulings  regarded 
him  curiously.  A  religious  fanatic!  He  asked: 

[28] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"What's  been  the  trouble  with  Tubal  Cain? 
Other  forges  appear  to  flourish  about  here.  This 
Wooddrop  seems  to  have  built  a  big  thing  with 


iron." 


"Mammon!"  Claypole  stated.  "Slag;  dross! 
Not  this,  but  the  Eternal  World."  The  other  failed 
to  comprehend,  and  he  said  so  irritably.  "All  that," 
Claypole  specified,  waving  toward  the  forge,  "takes 
the  thoughts  from  the  Supreme  Being.  Eager  for 
the  Word,  and  a  poor  speller-out  of  the  Book,  you 
can't  spend  priceless  hours  shingling  blooms.  And 
then  the  men  left,  one  after  another,  because  I 
stopped  pandering  to  their  carnal  appetites.  No 
one  can  indulge  in  rum  here,  in  a  place  of  mine 
sealed  to  God." 

"Do  you  mean  that  whisky  was  a  part  of  their 
pay  and  that  you  held  it  back?"  Alexander  Hulings 
demanded  curtly.  He  was  without  the  faintest 
sympathy  for  what  he  termed  such  arrant  folly. 

"Yes,  just  that;  a  brawling,  f reward  crew. 
Wooddrop  wanted  to  buy,  but  I  wouldn't  extend  his 
wicked  dominion,  satisfy  fleshly  lust." 

"It's  a  good  forge,  then?" 

"None  better!  I  built  her  mostly  myself,  when 
I  was  laying  up  the  treasure  that  rusted;  stone  on 
stone,  log  on  log.  Heavy,  slow  work.  The  sluice 
is  like  a  city  wall;  the  anvil  bedded  on  seven  feet  of 
oak.  It's  right!  But  if  I'd  known  then  I  should 
have  put  up  a  temple  to  Jehovah." 

Hidings  could  scarcely  contain  his  impatience. 
[29] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Why,"  he  ejaculated,  "you  might  have  made  a 
fine  thing  out  of  it!  Opportunity,  opportunity, 
and  you  let  it  go  by.  For  sheer " 

He  broke  off  at  a  steady  gaze  from  Claypole's 
calm  blue  eyes.  It  was  evident  that  he  would  have 
to  restrain  any  injudicious  characterizations  of  the 
other's  belief.  He  spoke  suddenly: 

"I  came  up  here  because  I  was  sick  and  had  to 
get  out  of  Eastlake.  I  left  everything  but  what 
little  money  I  had.  You  see — I  was  a  failure.  I'd 
like  to  stay  with  you  a  while ;  when  perhaps  I  might 
get  on  my  feet  again.  I  feel  easier  than  I  have 
for  weeks."  He  realized,  surprised,  that  this  was 
so.  He  had  a  conviction  that  he  could  sleep  here, 
by  the  stream,  in  the  still,  flowering  woods.  "I 
haven't  any  interest  in  temples,"  he  continued;  "but 
I  guess — two  men — we  won't  argue  about  that. 
Some  allowance  on  both  sides.  But  I  am  interested 
in  iron;  I'd  like  to  know  this  forge  of  yours  back 
ward.  I've  discovered  a  sort  of  hankering  after  the 
idea;  just  that — iron.  It's  a  tremendous  fact,  and 
you  can  keep  it  from  rusting." 


[30] 


Ill 


THE  following  morning  Claypole  showed 
Alexander  Hulings  the  mechanics  of  Tubal 
Cain.  A  faint  reminiscent  pride  shone 
through  the  later  unworldly  preoccupation.  He 
lifted  the  sluice  gate,  and  the  water  poured 
through  the  masoned  channel  of  the  forebay  and  set 
in  motion  the  wheel,  hung  with  its  lower  paddles 
in  the  course.  In  the  forge  shed  Claypole  bound  a 
connection,  and  the  short  haft  of  the  trip  hammer, 
caught  in  revolving  cogs,  raised  a  ponderous  head 
and  dropped  it,  with  a  jarring  clang,  on  the  anvil. 
The  blast  of  the  hearths  was  driven  by  water  wind, 
propelled  by  a  piston  in  a  wood  cylinder,  with  an 
air  chamber  for  even  pressure.  It  was  all  so  ele 
mental  that  the  neglect  of  the  last  years  had  but 
spread  over  the  forge  an  appearance  of  ill  repair. 
Actually  it  was  as  sound  as  the  clear  oak  largely 
used  in  its  construction. 

James  Claypole's  interest  soon  faded ;  he  returned 
to  his  chair  by  the  door  of  the  dwelling,  where  he 
laboriously  spelled  out  the  periods  of  a  battered  copy 
of  Addison's  "Evidences  of  the  Christian  Religion." 
He  broke  the  perusal  with  frequent  ecstatic  ejacula 
tions;  and  when  Hulings  reluctantly  returned  from 
his  study  of  the  forge  the  other  was  again  on  his 

[31] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

knees,  lost  in  passionate  prayer.  Hulings  grew 
hungry — Claypole  was  utterly  lost  in  visions — 
cooked  some  bacon  and  found  cold  biscuit  in  the 
shedlike  kitchen. 

The  afternoon  passed  into  a  tenderly  fragrant 
twilight.  The  forge  retreated,  apparently  through 
the  trees,  into  the  evening.  Alexander  Hulings  sat 
regarding  it  with  an  increasing  impatience;  first,  it 
annoyed  him  to  see  such  a  potentiality  of  power 
lying  fallow,  and  then  his  annoyance  ripened  into 
an  impatience  with  Claypole  that  he  could  scarcely 
contain.  The  impracticable  ass!  It  was  a  crime 
to  keep  the  wheel  stationary,  the  hearths  cold. 

He  had  a  sudden  burning  desire  to  see  Tubal 
Cain  stirring  with  life;  to  hear  the  beat  of  the  ham 
mer  forging  iron;  to  see  the  dark,  still  interior  lurid 
with  fire.  He  thought  again  of  John  Wooddrop, 
and  his  instinctive  disparagement  of  the  accomplish 
ments  of  others  mocked  both  them  and  himself.  If 
he,  Alexander  Hulings,  had  had  Claypole's  chance, 
his  beginning,  he  would  be  more  powerful  than 
Wooddrop  now. 

The  law  was  a  trivial  foolery  compared  to  the 
fashioning,  out  of  the  earth  itself,  of  iron.  Iron, 
the  indispensable !  Railroads,  in  spite  of  the  popu 
lar,  vulgar  disbelief,  were  a  coming  great  factor; 
a  thousand  new  uses,  refinements,  improved  pro 
cesses  of  manufacture  were  bound  to  develop.  His 
thoughts  took  fire  and  swept  over  him  in  a  con 
flagration  of  enthusiasm.  By  heaven,  if  Claypole 

[32] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

had  failed  he  would  succeed.     He,  too,  would  be 
an  Ironmaster! 

A  brutal  chill  overtook  him  with  the  night;  he 
shook  pitiably;  dark  fears  crept  like  noxious  beetles 
among  his  thoughts.  James  Claypole  sat,  with  his 
hands  on  his  gaunt  knees,  gazing,  it  might  be,  at 
a  miraculous  golden  city  beyond  the  black  curtain 
of  the  world.  Later  Hulings  lay  on  a  couch  of 
boards,  folded  in  coarse  blankets  and  his  cape, 
fighting  the  familiar  evil  sinking  of  his  oppressed 
spirit.  He  was  again  cold  and  yet  drenched  with 
sweat  ...  if  he  were  defeated  now,  he  thought,  if 
he  collapsed,  he  was  done,  shattered!  And  in  his 
swirling  mental  anguish  he  clung  to  one  stable,  cool 
fact;  he  saw,  like  Claypole,  a  vision;  but  not  gold 
— great  shadowy  masses  of  iron.  Before  dawn  the 
dread  receded;  he  fell  asleep. 

He  questioned  his  companion  at  breakfast  about 
the  details  of  forging. 

"The  secret,"  the  latter  stated,  "is— timber; 
wood,  charcoal.  It's  bound  to  turn  up ;  fuel  famine 
will  come,  unless  it  is  provided  against.  That's 
where  John  Wooddrop's  light.  He  counts  on 
getting  it  as  he  goes.  A  furnace'll  burn  five  or  six 
thousand  cords  of  wood  every  little  while,  and  that 
means  two  hundred  or  more  acres.  Back  of  Har 
mony,  here,  are  miles  of  timber  the  old  man  won't 
loose  up  right  for.  He  calculates  no  one  else  can 
profit  with  them  and  takes  his  own  time." 

"What  does  Wooddrop  own  in  the  valleys?" 
[33] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Well — there's  Sally  Furnace;  the  Poole  Saw 
mill  tract;  the  Medlar  Forge  and  Blue  Lump;  the 
coal  holes  on  Allen  Mountain;  Marta  Furnace  and 
Reeba  Furnace — they  ain't  right  hereabouts;  the 
Lode  Orebank ;  the  Blossom  Furnace  and  Charming 
Forges;  Middle  and  Low  Green  Forges;  the  Aus- 
pacher  Farm " 

"That  will  do,"  Hulings  interrupted  him  moodily; 
"I'm  not  an  assessor." 

Envy  lashed  his  determination  to  surprising 
heights.  Claypole  grew  uncommunicative,  except 
for  vague  references  to  the  Kingdom  at  hand  and 
the  dross  of  carnal  desire.  Finally,  without  a  pre 
paratory  word,  he  strode  away  and  disappeared  over 
the  rise  toward  the  road.  At  supper  he  had  not 
returned ;  there  was  no  trace  of  him  when,  inundated 
with  sleep,  Hulings  shut  the  dwelling  for  the  night. 
All  the  following  day  Alexander  Hulings  expected 
his  host;  he  spent  the  hours  avidly  studying  the 
implements  of  forging ;  but  the  other  did  not  appear. 
Neither  did  he  the  next  day,  nor  the  next. 

Hulings,  surprisingly  happy,  was  entirely  alone 
but  for  the  hidden  passage  of  wagons  on  the  road 
and  the  multitudinous  birds  that  inhabited  the 
stream's  edge,  in  the  peaceful,  increasing  warmth  of 
the  days  and  nights.  His  condition  slowly  im 
proved.  He  bought  supplies  at  the  packet  station 
on  the  canal  and  shortly  became  as  proficient  at  the 
stove  as  James  Claypole.  Through  the  day  he  sat 
in  the  mild  sunlight  or  speculated  among  the  im- 

[34] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

plements  of  the  forge.  He  visualized  the  process  of 
iron  making;  the  rough  pigs,  there  were  sows,  too, 
he  had  gathered,  lying  outside  the  shed  had  come 
from  the  furnace.  These  were  put  into  the  hearths 
and  melted,  stirred  perhaps;  then — what  were  the 
wooden  troughs  for? — hammered,  wrought  on  the 
anvil.  Outside  were  other  irregularly  round  pieces 
of  iron,  palpably  closer  in  texture  than  the  pig. 
The  forging  of  them,  he  was  certain,  had  been  com 
pleted.  There  were,  also,  heavy  bars,  three  feet 
in  length,  squared  at  each  end. 

Everything  had  been  dropped  apparently  at  the 
moment  of  James  Claypole's  absorbing  view  of 
another,  transcending  existence.  Late  in  an  after 
noon — it  was  May — he  heard  footfalls  descending 
from  the  road ;  with  a  sharp,  unreasoning  regret,  he 
thought  the  other  had  returned.  But  it  was  a  short, 
ungainly  man  with  a  purplish  face  and  impressive 
shoulders.  "Where's  Jim?"  he  asked  with  a 
markedly  German  accent. 

Alexander  Hulings  told  him  who  he  was  and  all 
he  knew  about  Claypole. 

"I'm  Conrad  Wishon,"  the  newcomer  stated, 
sinking  heavily  into  a  chair.  "Did  Jim  speak  of 
me — his  head  forgeman?  No!  But  I  guess  he 
told  you  how  he  stopped  the  schnapps.  Ha! 
James  got  religion.  And  he  went  away  two  weeks 
ago?  Maybe  he'll  never  be  back.  This" — he 
waved  toward  the  forge — "means  nothing  to  him. 

"I  live  twenty  miles  up  the  road,  and  I  saw  a 
[35] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

Glory-wagon  coming  on — an  old  Conestoga,  with 
the  Bible  painted  on  the  canvas,  a  traveling  Shouter 
slapping  the  reins,  and  a  congregation  of  his  family 
staring  out  the  back.  James  would  take  up  with 
a  thing  like  that  in  a  shot.  Yes,  sir;  maybe  now 
you  will  never  see  him  again.  And  your  mother's 
cousin!  There's  no  other  kin  I've  heard  of;  and 
I  was  with  him  longer  than  the  rest." 

Hulings  listened  with  growing  interest  to  the 
equable  flow  of  Conrad  Wishon's  statements  and 
mild  surprise. 

"Things  have  been  bad  with  me,"  the  smith  con 
tinued.  "My  wife,  she  died  Thursday  before 
breakfast,  and  one  thing  and  another.  A  son  has 
charge  of  a  coaling  gang  on  Allen  Mountain,  but 
I'm  too  heavy  for  that;  and  I  was  going  down  to 
Green  Forge  when  I  thought  I'd  stop  and  see  Jim. 
But,  hell! — Jim's  gone;  like  as  not  on  the  Glory- 
wagon.  I  can  get  a  place  at  any  hearth,"  he  de 
clared  pridefully.  "I'm  a  good  forger;  none  better 
in  Hamilton  County.  When  it's  shingling  a  loop 
I  can  show  'em  all!" 

"Have  some  supper,"  Alexander  Hulings  offered. 

They  sat  late  into  the  mild  night,  with  the  moon 
light  patterned  like  a  grey  carpet  at  their  feet,  talk 
ing  about  the  smithing  of  iron.  Conrad  Wishon 
revealed  the  practical  grasp  of  a  life  capably  spent 
at  a  single  task,  and  Hulings  questioned  him  with 
an  increasing  comprehension. 

[36] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"If  you  had  money,"  Wishon  explained,  "we 
could  do  something  right  here.  I'd  like  to  work 
old  Tubal  Cain.  I  understand  her." 

The  other  asked:  "How  much  would  it  take?" 

Conrad  Wishon  spread  out  his  hands  hopelessly. 
"A  lot;  and  then  a  creekful  back  of  that!  Soon 
as  Wooddrop  heard  the  hammer  trip,  he'd  be  around 
to  close  you  down.  Do  it  in  a  hundred  ways — no 
teaming  principally." 

Rulings'  antagonism  to  John  Wooddrop  increased 
perceptibly;  he  became  obsessed  by  the  fantastic 
thought  of  founding  himself — Tubal  Cain — tri 
umphantly  in  the  face  of  the  established  opposition. 
But  he  had  nothing — no  money,  knowledge,  or  even 
a  robust  person.  Yet  his  will  to  succeed  in  the 
valleys  hardened  into  a  concrete  aim.  .  .  .  Conrad 
Wishon  would  be  invaluable. 

The  latter  stayed  through  the  night  and  even 
lingered,  after  breakfast,  into  the  morning.  He 
was  reluctant  to  leave  the  familiar  scene  of  long 
toil.  They  were  sitting  lost  in  discussion  when  the 
beat  of  horses'  hoofs  was  arrested  on  the  road,  and 
a  snapping  of  underbrush  announced  the  appear 
ance  of  a  young  man  with  a  keen,  authoritative 
countenance. 

"Mr.  James  Claypole?"  he  asked,  addressing 
them  collectively. 

Alexander  Hulings  explained  what  he  could  of 
Claypole's  absence. 

[37] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"It  probably  doesn't  matter,"  the  other  returned. 
"I  was  told  the  forge  wasn't  run,  for  some  foolish 
ness  or  other."  He  turned  to  go. 

"What  did  you  want  with  him — with  Tubal 
Cain?"  Conrad  Wishon  asked. 

"Twenty-five  tons  of  blooms." 

"Now  if  this  was  ten  years  back " 

The  young  man  interrupted  the  smith,  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience,  and  turned  to  go.  Hulings 
asked  Conrad  Wishon  swiftly: 

"Could  it  be  done  here?  Could  the  men  be  got? 
And  what  would  it  cost?" 

"It  could,"  said  Wishon;  "they  might,  and  a 
thousand  dollars  would  perhaps  see  it  through." 

Hulings  sharply  called  the  retreating  figure  back. 
"Something  more  about  this  twenty-five  tons,"  he 
demanded. 

"For  the  Penn  Rolling  Mills,"  the  other  crisply 
replied.  "We're  asking  for  delivery  in  five  weeks, 
but  that  might  be  extended  a  little — at,  of  course, 
a  loss  on  the  ton.  The  quality  must  be  first 
grade." 

Wishon  grunted. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "blooms  I  made  would 
hardly  need  blistering  to  be  called  steel." 

"I'm  Philip  Grere,"  the  newcomer  stated,  "of 
Grere  Brothers,  and  they're  the  Penn  Rolling  Mills. 
We  want  good  blooms  soon  as  possible  and  it  seems 
there's  almost  none  loose.  If  you  can  talk  iron, 

[38] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

immediate  iron,  let's  get  it  on  paper;  if  not,  I  have 
a  long  way  to  drive." 

When  he  had  gone  Conrad  Wishon  sat  staring, 
with  mingled  astonishment  and  admiration,  at 
Hulings. 

"But,"  he  protested,  "y°u  don't  know  nothing 
about  it!" 

"You  do!"  Alexander  Hulings  told  him;  he  saw 
himself  as  a  mind,  of  which  Wishon  formed  the 
trained  and  powerful  body. 

"Perhaps  Jim  will  come  back,"  the  elder  man 
continued. 

"That  is  a  possibility,"  Alexander  admitted. 
"But  I  am  going  to  put  every  dollar  I  own  into  the 
chance  of  finishing  those  twenty-five  tons." 

The  smith  persisted:  "But  you  don't  know  me; 
perhaps  I'm  a  rascal  and  can't  tell  a  puddling 
furnace  from  a  chafery." 

Hulings  regarded  him  shrewdly. 

"Conrad,"  he  demanded,  "can  Tubal  Cain  do 
it?" 

"By  Gott,"  Wishon  exclaimed,  "she  can!" 

After  an  hour  of  close  •calculation  Conrad 
Wishon  rose  with  surprising  agility. 

"I've  got  enough  to  do  besides  sitting  here.  Tu 
bal  Cain  ought  to  have  twenty  men,  anyhow;  per 
haps  I  can  get  eight.  There's  Mathias  Slough,  a 
good  hammerman.  He  broke  an  elbow  at  Charm 
ing,  and  Wooddrop  won't  have  him  back;  but  he 

[39] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

can  work  still.  Hance,  a  good  nigger,  is  at  my 
place,  and  there  is  another — Surrie.  Haines  Zer- 
bey,  too,  worked  at  refining,  but  you'll  need  to 
watch  his  rum.  Perhaps  Old  Man  Boeshore  will 
lend  a  hand,  and  he's  got  a  strapping  grandson — 
Emanuel.  Jeremiah  Stell  doesn't  know  much,  but 
he'd  let  you  cut  a  finger  off  for  a  dollar."  He 
shook  his  head  gravely.  "That  is  a  middling  poor 
collection." 

Alexander  Hulings  felt  capable  of  operating  Tu- 
bal  Cain  successfully  with  a  shift  of  blind  para 
lytics.  A  conviction  of  power,  of  vast  capability, 
possessed  him.  Suddenly  he  seemed  to  have  be 
come  a  part  of  the  world  that  moved,  of  its  crea 
tive  energy;  he  was  like  a  piece  of  machinery  newly 
connected  with  the  forceful  driving  'whole.  Con 
rad  Wishon  had  promised  to  return  the  next  day 
with  the  men  he  had  enumerated,  and  Alexander 
opened  the  small  scattered  buildings  about  the 
forge.  There  were,  he  found,  sufficient  living  pro 
visions  for  eight  or  ten  men  out  of  a  moldering 
quantity  of  primitive  bed  furnishings,  rusted  tin, 
and  cracked  glass.  But  it  was  fortunate  that  the 
days  were  steadily  growing  warmer. 

Wishon  had  directed  him  to  clean  out  the  chan 
nel  of  the  forebay,  and  throughout  the  latter  half 
of  the  day  he  was  tearing  heavy  weeds  from  the  in 
terstices  of  the  stones,  laboring  in  a  chill  slime 
that  soon  completely  covered  him.  He  removed 
heavy  rocks,  matted  dead  bushes,  banked  mud;  and 

[40] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

after  an  hour  he  was  cruelly,  impossibly  weary. 
He  slipped  and  bruised  a  shoulder,  cut  open  his 
cheek;  but  he  impatiently  spat  out  the  blood  trail 
ing  into  his  mouth,  and  continued  working.  His 
weariness  became  a  hell  of  acute  pain;  without 
manual  practice  his  movements  were  clumsy;  he 
wasted  what  strength  he  had.  Yet  as  his  suffer 
ing  increased  he  grew  only  more  relentlessly  me 
thodical  in  the  execution  of  his  task.  He  picked 
out  insignificant  obstructions,  scraped  away  grass 
that  offered  no  resistance  to  the  water  power. 
When  he  had  finished,  the  forebay,  striking  in  at 
an  angle  from  the  stream  to  the  wheel,  was  meticu 
lously  clean. 

He  stumbled  into  his  dwelling  and  fell  on  the 
bed,  almost  instantly  asleep,  without  removing  a 
garment,  caked  with  filth;  and  never  stirred  until 
the  sun  again  flooded  the  room.  He  cooked  and 
ravenously  ate  a  tremendous  breakfast,  and  then 
forced  himself  to  walk  the  dusty  miles  that  lay 
between  Tubal  Cain  and  the  canal.  His  legs 
seemed  to  be  totally  without  joints,  and  his  spine 
felt  like  a  white-hot  bar.  At  the  store  about  which 
the  insignificant  village  of  Harmony  clustered  he  or 
dered  and  paid  for  a  great  box  of  supplies,  later 
carried  by  an  obliging  teamster  and  himself  to  the 
forge. 

Once  more  there,  he  addressed  himself  to  digging 
out  the  slag  that  had  hardened  in  the  hearths. 
The  lightest  bar  soon  became  insuperably  ponder- 

[41] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

ous;  it  wabbled  in  his  grasp,  evaded  his  purpose. 
Vicious  tears  streamed  over  his  blackened  counte 
nance,  and  he  maintained  a  constant  audible  flow 
of  bitter  invective.  But  even  that  arduous  task 
was  nearly  accomplished  when  dark  overtook  him. 

He  stripped  off  his  garments,  dropping  them 
where  he  stood,  by  the  forge  shed,  and  literally 
fell  forward  into  the  stream.  The  cold  shock 
largely  revived  him,  and  he  supped  on  huge  tins 
of  coffee  and  hard  flitch.  Immediately  after,  he 
dropped  asleep  as  if  he  had  been  knocked  uncon 
scious  by  a  club. 

At  mid-morning  he  heard  a  rattle  of  conveyance 
from  the  road  and  his  name  called.  Above  he 
found  a  wagon,  without  a  top,  filled  with  the  sor 
riest  collection  of  humanity  he  had  ever  viewed, 
and  drawn  by  a  dejected  bony  horse  and  a  small 
wicked  mule. 

"Here  they  are,"  Conrad  Wishon  announced; 
"and  Hance  brought  along  his  girl  to  cook." 

Mathias  Slough,  the  hammerman,  was  thin  and 
grey,  as  if  his  face  were  covered  with  cobwebs; 
Hance,  Conrad's  nigger,  black  as  an  iron  bloom, 
was  carrying  upside  down  a  squawking  hen;  Sur- 
rie,  lighter,  had  a  dropped  jaw  and  hands  that 
hung  below  his  knees;  Haines  Zerbey  had  pale, 
swimming  eyes,  and  executed  a  salute  with  a  bat 
tered  flat  beaver  hat;  Old  Man  Boeshore  resembled 
a  basin,  bowed  in  at  the  stomach,  his  mouth  sunken 
on  toothless  gums,  but  there  was  agility  in  his  step ; 

[42] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

and  Emanuel,  his  grandson,  a  towering  hulk  of 
youth,  presented  a  facial  expanse  of  mingled  pim 
ples  and  down.  Jeremiah  Stell  was  a  small, 
shriveled  man,  with  dead-white  hair  on  a  smooth, 
pinkish  countenance. 

Standing  aside  from  the  nondescript  assemblage 
of  men  and  transient  garments,  Alexander  Hulings 
surveyed  them  with  cold  determination;  two  emo 
tions  possessed  him — one  of  an  almost  humorous 
dismay  at  the  slack  figures  on  whom  so  much  de 
pended;  and  a  second,  stronger  conviction  that  he 
could  force  his  purpose  even  from  them.  They 
were,  in  a  manner,  his  first  command;  his  first  ma 
terial  from  which  to  build  the  consequence,  the  suc 
cess,  that  he  felt  was  his  true  expression. 

He  addressed  a  few  brief  periods  to  them;  and 
there  was  no  warmth,  no  effort  to  conciliate,  in 
his  tones,  his  dry  statement  of  a  heavy  task  for  a 
merely  adequate  gain.  He  adopted  this  attitude 
instinctively,  without  forethought;  he  was  dimly 
conscious,  as  a  principle,  that  underpaid  men  were 
more  easily  driven  than  those  over-fully  rewarded. 
And  he  intended  to  drive  the  men  before  him  to  the 
limit  of  their  capability.  They  had  no  individual 
existence  for  Alexander  Hulings,  no  humanity; 
they  were  merely  the  implements  of  a  projection  of 
his  own;  their  names — Haines  Zerbey,  Slough — 
had  no  more  significance  than  the  terms  bellows  or 
tongs. 

They  scattered  to  the  few  habitations  by  the 
[43] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

stream,  structures  mostly  of  logs  and  plaster;  and 
in  a  little  while  there  rose  the  odorous  smoke  and 
sputtering  fat  of  Hance's  girl's  cooking.  Conrad 
Wishon  soon  started  the  labor  of  preparing  the 
forge.  Jeremiah  Stell,  who  had  some  slight  knowl 
edge  of  carpentry,  was  directed  to  repair  the 
plunger  of  the  water-wind  apparatus.  Slough  was 
testing  the  beat  and  control  of  the  trip  hammer. 
Hance  and  Surrie  carried  outside  the  neglected 
heaps  of  iron  hooks  and  tongs.  Conrad  explained 
to  Alexander  Hulings: 

"I  sent  word  to  my  son  about  the  charcoal;  he'll 
leave  it  at  my  place,  but  we  shall  have  to  haul  it 
from  there.  Need  another  mule — maybe  two. 
There's  enough  pig  here  to  start,  and  my  idea  is 
to  buy  all  we  will  need  now  at  Blue  Lump;  they'll 
lend  us  a  sled,  so's  we  will  have  it  in  case  old 
Wooddrop  tries  to  clamp  down  on  us.  I'll  go 
along  this  afternoon  and  see  the  head  furnace  man. 
It  will  take  money." 

Without  hesitation,  Hulings  put  a  considerable 
part  of  his  entire  small  capital  into  the  other's 
hand.  At  suppertime  Conrad  Wishon  returned 
with  the  first  load  of  metal  for  the  Penn  Rolling 
Mills  contract. 

Later  Hance  produced  a  wheezing  accordion  and, 
rocking  on  his  feet,  drew  out  long,  wailing  notes. 
He  sang: 

"Brothers,  let  us  leave 
Bukra  Land  for  Hayti; 
[44] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

There  we  be  receive' 
Grand  as  Lafayette" 

"With  changes  of  men,"  Conrad  continued  to 
Alexander  Hulings,  "the  forges  could  run  night 
and  day,  like  customary.  But  with  only  one  lot 
we'll  have  to  sleep.  Someone  will  stay  up  to  tend 
the  fires." 

In  the  morning  the  labor  of  making  the  wrought 
blooms  actually  commenced.  Conrad  Wishon  and 
Hance  at  one  hearth,  and  Haines  Zerbey  with  Sur- 
rie  at  the  other,  stood  ceaselessly  stirring,  with 
long  iron  rods,  the  fluxing  metal  at  the  incandes 
cent  cores  of  the  fires.  Alexander  then  saw  that 
the  troughs  of  water  were  to  cool  the  rapidly  heat 
ing  rods.  Conrad  Wishon  was  relentless  in  his  in 
sistence  on  long  working  of  the  iron.  There  were, 
already,  muttered  protests.  "The  dam'  stuff  was 
cooked  an  hour  back!"  But  he  drowned  the  ob 
jections  in  a  surprising  torrent  of  German-Ameri 
can  cursing. 

Hulings  was  outside  the  shed  when  he  heard  the 
first  dull  fall  of  the  hammer;  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  sound  had  come  from  a  sudden  pounding 
of  his  expanded  heart.  He,  Alexander  Hulings, 
was  making  iron;  his  determination,  his  capability 
and  will  were  hammering  out  of  the  stubborn  raw 
material  of  earth  a  foothold  for  himself  and  a  justi 
fication!  The  smoke,  pouring  blackly,  streaked 
with  crimson  sparks,  from  the  forge  shed,  sifted  a 
fine  soot  on  the  green-white  flowers  of  a  dogwood 

[45] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

tree.  A  metallic  clamor  rose;  and  Emanuel,  the 
youth,  stripped  to  the  waist  and  already  smeared 
with  sweat  and  grime,  came  out  for  a  gulping 
breath  of  unsullied  air. 

The  characteristics  of  the  small  force  soon  be 
came  evident.  Conrad  Wishon  labored  cease 
lessly,  with  an  unimpaired  power  at  fifty  apparent 
even  to  Alexander's  intense  self-absorption.  Of 
the  others,  Hance,  the  negro,  was  easily  the  supe 
rior  ;  his  strength  was  Herculean,  his  willingness  in 
exhaustible.  Surrie  was  sullen.  Mathias  Slough 
constantly  grumbled  at  the  meager  provisions  for 
his  comfort  and  efforts;  yet  he  was  a  skillful  work 
man.  When  Alexander  had  correctly  gauged  Zer- 
bey's  daily  dram  he,  too,  was  useful;  but  the  others 
were  negligible.  They  made  the  motions  of  labor, 
but  force  was  absent. 

Alexander  Hulings  watched  with  narrowed  eyes. 
When  he  was  present  the  work  in  the  shed  notably 
improved;  all  the  men  except  Conrad  avoided  his 
implacable  gaze.  He  rarely  addressed  a  remark 
to  them;  he  seemed  withdrawn  from  the  operation 
that  held  so  much  for  him.  Conrad  Wishon  easily 
established  his  dexterity  at  "shingling  a  loop." 

Working  off  a  part  of  a  melting  sow,  he  secured 
it  with  wide- jawed  shingling  tongs;  and,  steady 
ing  the  pulsating  mass  on  an  iron  plate,  he  sledged 
it  into  a  bloom.  For  ten  hours  daily  the  work  con 
tinued,  the  hearths  burned,  the  trip  hammer  fell 
and  fell.  The  interior  of  the  shed  was  a  grimy 

[46] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

shadow  lighted  with  lurid  flares  and  rose  and  gen 
tian  flowers  of  iron.  Ruddy  reflections  slid  over 
glistening  shoulders  and  intent,  bitter  faces;  harsh 
directions,  voices,  sounded  like  the  grating  of  cast 
ings. 

The  oddly  assorted  team  was  dispatched  for  char 
coal,  and  then  sent  with  a  load  of  blooms  to  the 
canal.  Hance  had  to  be  spared,  with  Surrie,  for 
that;  the  forge  was  short  of  labor,  and  Alexander 
Hulings  joined  Conrad  in  the  working  of  the  metal. 
It  was,  he  found,  exhausting  toil.  He  was  light 
and  unskilled,  and  the  mass  on  the  hearth  slipped 
continually  from  his  stirring;  or  else  it  fastened, 
with  a  seeming  spite,  on  his  rod,  and  he  was  power 
less  to  move  it.  Often  he  swung  from  his  feet, 
straining  in  supreme,  wrenching  effort.  His  body 
burned  with  fatigue,  his  eyes  were  scorched  by  the 
heat  of  the  fires;  he  lost  count  of  days  and  nights. 
They  merged  imperceptibly  one  into  another;  he 
must  have  dreamed  of  his  racking  exertions,  for 
apparently  they  never  ceased. 

Alexander  became  indistinguishable  from  the 
others;  all  cleanness  was  forgotten;  he  ate  in  a 
stupefaction  of  weariness,  securing  with  his  fingers 
whatever  was  put  before  him.  He  was  engaged 
in  a  struggle  the  end  of  which  was  hidden  in  the 
black  smoke  perpetually  hanging  over  him;  in  the 
torment  of  the  present,  an  inhuman  suffering  to 
which  he  was  bound  by  a  tryannical  power  outside 
his  control,  he  lost  all  consciousness  of  the  future. 

[47] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

The  hammerman's  injured  arm  prevented  his 
working  for  two  days,  and  Alexander  Hulings 
cursed  him  in  a  stammering  rage,  before  which  the 
other  was  shocked  and  dumb.  He  drove  Old  Man 
Boeshore  and  his  grandson  with  consideration  for 
neither  age  nor  youth;  the  elder  complained  end 
lessly,  tears  even  slid  over  his  corrugated  face;  the 
youth  was  brutally  burned,  but  Hulings  never  re 
laxed  his  demands. 

It  was  as  if  they  had  all  been  caught  in  a  whirl 
pool,  in  which  they  fought  vainly  for  release — the 
whirlpool  of  Alexander  Hulings'  domination. 
They  whispered  together,  he  heard  fragments  of 
intended  revolt;  but  under  his  cold  gaze,  his  thin, 
tight  lips,  they  subsided  uneasily.  It  was  patent 
that  they  were  abjectly  afraid  of  him.  .  .  .  The 
blooms  moved  in  a  small  but  unbroken  stream 
over  the  road  to  the  canal. 

He  had  neglected  to  secure  other  horses  or 
mules;  and,  while  waiting  for  a  load  of  iron  on 
the  rough  track  broken  from  the  road  to  the  forge, 
the  horse  slid  to  his  knees,  fell  over,  dead — the 
last  ounce  of  effort  wrung  from  his  angular  frame. 
The  mule,  with  his  ears  perpetually  laid  back  and 
a  raised  lip,  seemed  impervious  to  fatigue;  <his 
spirit,  his  wickedness,  persisted  in  the  face  of  ap 
palling  toil.  The  animal's  name,  Hulings  knew, 
was  Alexander;  he  overheard  Hance  explaining 
this  to  Old  Man  Boeshore: 

"That  mule's  bound  to  be  Alexander;  ain't  no- 
[48] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

body  but  an  Alexander  work  like  that  mule!  He's 
bad  too;  he'd  lay  you  cold  and  go  right  on  about 
his  business." 

Old  Man  Boeshore  muttered  something  exces 
sively  bitter  about  the  name  Alexander. 

"If  you  sh'd  ask  me,"  he  stated,  "I'd  tell  you 
that  he  ain't  human.  He's  got  a  red  light  in  his 
eye,  like " 

Hulings  gathered  that  this  was  not  still  directed 
at  the  mule. 

More  than  half  of  the  order  for  the  Penn  Rolling 
Mills  had  been  executed  and  lay  piled  by  the  canal. 
He  calculated  the  probable  time  still  required,  the 
amount  he  would  unavoidably  lose  through  the  de 
lay  of  faulty  equipment  and  insufficient  labor. 
If  James  Claypole  came  back  now,  he  thought,  and 
attempted  interference,  he  would  commit  murder. 
It  was  evening,  and  he  was  seated  listlessly,  with 
his  chair  tipped  back  against  the  dwelling  he 
shared  with  Conrad  Wishon.  The  latter,  close  by, 
was  bowed  forward,  his  head,  with  a  silvery  gleam 
of  faded  hair,  sunk  on  his  breast.  A  catbird  was 
whistling  an  elaborate  and  poignant  song,  and  the 
invisible  stream  passed  with  a  faint,  choked  whis 
per. 

"We're  going  to  have  trouble  with  that  girl  of 
Hance's,"  Wishon  pronounced  suddenly;  "she  has 
taken  to  meeting  Surrie  in  the  woods.  If  Hance 
comes  on  them  there  will  be  wet  knives ! " 

Such  mishaps,  Alexander  Hulings  knew,  were 
[49] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

an  acute  menace  to  his  success.  The  crippling  or 
loss  of  Hance  might  easily  prove  fatal  to  his  hopes ; 
the  negro,  immensely  powerful,  equable,  and  will 
ing,  was  of  paramount  importance. 

"I'll  stop  that!"  he  declared.  But  the  trouble 
developed  before  he  had  time  to  intervene. 

He  came  on  the  two  negroes  the  following  morn 
ing,  facing  each  other,  with,  as  Conrad  had  pre 
dicted,  drawn  knives.  Hance  stood  still;  but  Sur- 
rie,  with  bent  knees  and  the  point  of  his  steel  al 
most  brushing  the  grass,  moved  about  the  larger 
man.  Hulings  at  once  threw  himself  between 
them. 

"What  damned  nonsense's  this?"  he  demanded. 
"Get  back  to  the  team,  Hance,  and  you,  Surrie, 
drop  your  knife!" 

The  former  was  on  the  point  of  obeying,  when 
Surrie  ran  in  with  a  sweeping  hand.  Alexander 
Hulings  jumped  forward  in  a  cold  fury  and  felt  a 
sudden  numbing  slice  across  his  cheek.  He  had  a 
dim  consciousness  of  blood  smearing  his  shoulder; 
but  all  his  energy  was  directed  on  the  stooped  figure 
falling  away  from  his  glittering  rage. 

"Get  out!"  he  directed  in  a  thin,  evil  voice. 
"If  you  are  round  here  in  ten  minutes  I'll  blow  a 
hole  through  your  skull!" 

Surrie  was  immediately  absorbed  by  the  under 
brush. 

Hulings  had  a  long  diagonal  cut  from  his  brow 
across  and  under  his  ear.  It  bled  profusely,  and 

[50] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

as  his  temper  receded  fainitness  dimmed  his  vision. 
Conrad  Wishon  blotted  the  wound  with  cobwebs; 
a  cloth,  soon  stained,  was  bound  about  Alexander's 
head,  and  after  dinner  he  was  again  in  the  forge, 
whipping  the  flagging  efforts  of  his  men  with  a 
voice  like  a  thin  leather  thong.  If  the  labor  were 
delayed,  he  recognized,  the  contract  would  not  be 
filled.  The  workmen  were  wearing  out,  like  the 
horse.  He  moved  young  Emanuel  to  the  hauling 
with  Hance,  the  wagon  now  drawn  by  three  mules. 
The  hammerman's  injured  arm  had  grown  in 
flamed,  and  he  was  practically  one-handed  in  his 
management  of  the  trip  hammer. 

While  carrying  a  lump  of  iron  to  the  anvil  the 
staggering,  ill-assorted  group  with  the  tongs 
dropped  their  burden,  and  stood  gazing  stupidly 
at  the  fallen,  glowing  mass.  They  were  hardly  re 
vived  by  Hulings'  lashing  scorn=  He  had  increased 
Haines  Zerbey's  daily  dram,  but  the  drunkard  was 
now  practically  useless.  Jeremiah  Stell  contracted 
an  intermittent  fever;  and,  though  he  still  toiled  in 
the  pursuit  of  his  coveted  wage,  he  was  of  doubtful 
value. 

Alexander  Hulings'  body  had  become  as  hard 
as  Conrad's  knotted  forearm.  He  ate  huge 
amounts  of  half-cooked  pork,  washed  hastily  down 
by  tin  cups  of  black  coffee,  and  fell  into  instant 
slumber  when  the  slightest  opportunity  offered. 
His  face  was  matted  by  an  unkempt  beard;  his 
hands,  the  pale  hands  of  an  Eastlake  lawyer,  were 

[51] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

black,  like  Hance's,  with  palms  of  leather.  He 
surveyed  himself  with  curi'ous  amusement  in  a  bro 
ken  fragment  of  looking-glass  nailed  to  the  wall; 
the  old  Hulings,  pursued  by  inchoate  dread,  had 
vanished.  ...  In  his  place  was  Alexander  Hu 
lings,  a  practical  iron  man!  He  repeated  the  des 
criptive  phrase  aloud,  with  an  accent  of  arogant 
pride.  Later,  with  an  envelope  from  the  Penn 
Rolling  Mills,  he  said  it  again,  with  even  more  con 
fidence;  he  held  the  pay  for  the  blooms  which  he 
had~it  seemed  in  another  existence — promised  to 
deliver. 

He  stood  leaning  on  a  tree  before  the  forge; 
within,  Conrad  Wishon  and  Hance  were  piling  the 
metal  hooks  with  sharp,  ringing  echoes.  All  the 
others  had  vanished  magically,  at  once,  as  if  from 
an  exhausted  spell.  Old  Man  Boeshore  had  de 
parted  with  a  piping  implication,  supported  by 
Emanuel,  his  grandson. 

Alexander  Hulings  was  reviewing  his  material 
situation.  It  was  three  hundred  and  thirty  dollars 
better  than  it  had  been  on  his  arrival  at  Tubal 
Cain.  In  addition  to  that  he  had  a  new  store  of 
confidence,  of  indomitable  pride,  vanity,  a  more 
actual  support.  He  gazed  with  interest  toward  the 
near  future,  and  with  no  little  doubt.  It  was 
patent  that  he  could  not  proceed  as  he  had  begun; 
such  combinations  could  not  be  forced  a  second 
time.  He  intended  to  remain  at  James  Claypole's 

[52] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

forge,  conducting  it  as  though  it  were  his  own — 
for  the  present,  anyhow — but  he  should  have  to  get 
an  efficient  working  body ;  and  many  additions  were 
necessary — among  them  a  blacksmith  shop.  He 
had,  with  Conrad  Wishon,  the  conviction  that  Clay- 
pole  would  not  return. 

More  capital  would  be  necessary.  He  was  re 
volving  this  undeniable  fact  when,  through  the  lush 
June  foliage,  he  saw  an  open  carriage  turn  from 
the  road  and  descend  to  the  forge  clearing.  It  held 
an  erect,  trimly  whiskered  form  and  a  negro  driver. 
The  former  was  John  Wooddrop.  He  gazed  with 
surprise,  that  increased  to  a  recognition,  a  memory, 
of  Alexander  Hulings. 

"Jim  Claypole?"  he  queried. 

"Not  here,"  Hulings  replied,  even  more  laconi 
cally. 

"Nonsense!  I'm  told  he's  been  running  Tubal 
Cain  again.  Say  to  him — and  I've  no  time  to 
dawdle — that  John  Wooddrop's  here." 

"Well,  Claypole's  not,"  the  other  repeated. 
"He's  away.  I'm  running  this  forge — Alexander 
Hulings." 

Wooddrop's  mouth  drew  into  a  straight  hard  line 
from  precise  whisker  to  whisker.  "I  have  been 
absent,"  he  said  finally.  It  was  palpably  an  ex 
planation,  almost  an  excuse.  Conrad  Wishon 
appeared  from  within  the  forge  shed.  "Ah, 
Conrad!"  John  Wooddrop  ejaculated  pleasantly. 

[53] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Glad  to  find  you  at  the  hearth  again.  Come  and 
see  me  in  the  morning." 

"I  think  I'll  stay  here,"  the  forgeman  replied, 
"now  Tubal  Cain's  working." 

"Then,  in  a  week  or  so,"  the  Ironmaster  answered 
imperturbably. 

All  Alexander  Hillings'  immaterial  dislike  of 
Wooddrop  solidified  into  a  concrete,  vindictive 
enmity.  He  saw  the  beginning  of  a  long,  bitter, 
stirring  struggle. 


[54] 


m] 


IV 


"FTTIHAT'S  about  it!"  Conrad  Wishon  af 
firmed.  They  were  seated  by  the  door 
way  of  the  dwelling  at  Tubal  Cain. 
It  was  night,  and  hot;  and  the  heavy  air  was 
constantly  fretted  by  distant,  vague  thunder.  Alex 
ander  Hulings  listened  with  pinched  lips. 

"I  saw  Derek,  the  founder  at  Blue  Lump,  and 
ordered  the  metal;  then  he  told  me  that  Wooddrop 
had  sent  word  not  to  sell  a  pig  outside  his  own 
forges.  That  comes  near  closing  us  up.  I  mis 
doubt  that  we  could  get  men,  anyhow — not  without 
we  went  to  Pittsburgh;  and  that  would  need  big 
orders,  big  money.  The  old  man's  got  us  kind  of 
shut  in  here,  with  only  three  mules  and  one  wagon 
— we  couldn't  make  out  to  haul  any  distance;  and 
John  Wooddrop  picks  up  all  the  loose  teams.  It 
looks  bad,  that's  what  it  does.  No  credit,  too;  I 
stopped  at  Harmony  for  some  forge  hooks,  and 
they  wouldn't  let  me  take  them  away  until  you  had 
paid.  A  word's  been  dropped  there  likewise." 

Hulings  could  see,  without  obvious  statement, 
that  his  position  was  difficult;  it  was  impossible 
seemingly,  with  his  limited  funds  and  equipment, 
to  go  forward  and — no  backward  course  existed: 
nothing  but  a  void,  ruin,  the  way  across  which  had 

[55] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

been  destroyed.  He  turned  with  an  involuntary 
dread  from  the  fleeting  contemplation  of  the  past, 
mingled  with  monotony  and  suffering,  and  set  all 
his  cold,  passionate  mind  on  the  problem  of  his 
future.  He  would,  he  told  himself,  succeed  with 
iron  here.  He  would  succeed  in  spite  of  John 
Wooddrop — no,  because  of  the  Ironmaster;  the 
latter  increasingly  served  as  an  actual  object  of 
comparison,  an  incentive,  and  a  deeply  involved 
spectator. 

He  lost  himself  in  a  gratifying  vision,  when 
Conrad's  voice,  shattering  the  facile  heights  he  had 
mounted,  again  fastened  his  attention  on  the  ex 
igencies  of  the  present. 

"A  lot  of  money!"  the  other  repeated.  "I  guess 
we'll  have  to  shut  down;  but  I'd  almost  rather 
drive  mules  on  the  canal  that  go  to  John  Wood- 
drop." 

Hulings  declared:  "You'll  do  neither,  and  Tubal 
Cain  won't  shut  down!"  He  rose,  turned  into  the 
house. 

"What's  up?"  Wishon  demanded  at  the  sudden 
movement. 

"I'm  going  after  money,"  Hulings  responded 
from  within — "enough.  A  packet  is  due  east 
before  dawn." 

If  the  canal  boat  had  seemed  to  go  slowly  on  his 
way  to  Harmony,  it  appeared  scarcely  to  stir  on 
his  return.  There  was  no  immediate  train  con 
nection  at  Columbus,  and  he  footed  the  uneven 

[56] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

shaded  walks  in  an  endless  pattern,  unconscious  of 
houses,  trees,  or  passing  people,  lost  in  the  re 
hearsal  of  what  he  had  to  say,  until  the  horn  of  an 
immediate  departure  summoned  him  to  a  seat  in  a 
coach. 

The  candles  at  each  end  sent  a  shifting,  pale 
illumination  over  the  cramped  interior,  voluminous 
skirts  and  prodigiously  whiskered  countenances. 
Each  delay  increased  his  impatience  to  a  muttering 
fury;  it  irked  him  that  he  was  unable  to  declare 
himself,  Alexander  Hulings,  to  the  train  captain, 
and  by  the  sheer  bulk  of  that  name  force  a  more 
rapid  progress. 

Finally  in  Eastlake,  Veneada  gazed  at  him  out 
of  a  silent  astonishment. 

"You  say  you're  Alex  Hulings!"  the  doctor 
exclaimed.  "Some  of  you  seems  to  be;  but  the 
rest  is — by  heaven,  iron!  I'll  admit  now  I  was 
low  about  you  when  you  left,  in  April;  I  knew 

you  had  gimp,  and  counted  on  it;  however " 

The  period  expired  in  a  wondering  exhalation. 
Veneada  pounded  on  his  friend's  chest,  dug  into 
his  arm.  "A  horse!"  he  declared. 

Alexander  Hulings  impatiently  withdrew  from 
the  other's  touch. 

"Veneada,"  he  said,  "once  you  asked  me  to  come 
to  you  if  I  wanted  money,  if  I  happened  on  a  good 
thing.  I  said  nothing  at  the  time,  because  I 
couldn't  picture  an  occasion  when  I'd  do  such  a 
thing.  Well — it's  come.  I  need  money,  and  I'm 

[57] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

asking  you  for  it.  And,  I  warn  you,  it  will  be  a 
big  sum.  If  you  can't  manage  it,  I  must  go  some 
where  else;  I'd  go  to  China,  if  necessary — I'd  stop 
people,  strangers,  on  the  street. 

"A  big  sum,"  Hulings  reiterated  somberly;  "per 
haps  ten,  perhaps  twenty,  thousand.  Not  a  loan," 
he  added  immediately,  "but  an  investment — an  in 
vestment  in  me.  You  must  come  out  to  Harmony. 
I  can't  explain:  it  wouldn't  sound  convincing  in 
Eastlake.  In  the  valleys,  at  Tubal  Cain,  the  thing 
will  be  self-evident.  I  have  made  a  beginning 
with  practically  nothing;  and  I  can  go  on.  But 
it  will  require  capital,  miles  of  forest,  furnaces 
built,  Pittsburgh  swept  bare  of  good  men.  No," 
he  held  up  a  hardened,  arresting  palm,  "don't  at 
tempt  to  discuss  it  now.  Come  out  to  Tubal  Cain 
and  see;  learn  about  John  Wooddrop  and  how  to 
turn  iron  into  specie." 

At  the  end  of  the  week  there  were  three  chairs 
canted  against  the  stone  wall  of  the  little  house  by 
the  stream  that  drove  Tubal  Cain  Forge.  Conrad 
Wishon,  with  a  scarlet  undershirt  open  on  a  broad, 
hairy  chest,  listened  with  wonderment  to  the  sharp 
periods  of  Alexander  Hulings  and  Veneada;  in 
credulously  he  heard  mammoth  sums  of  money 
estimated,  projected,  dismissed  as  commonplace. 
Veneada  said: 

"I've  always  believed  in  your  ability,  Alex;  all 
that  I  questioned  was  the  opportunity.  Now  that 
has  gone;  the  chance  is  here.  You've  got  those 

[58] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

steel-wire  fingers  of  yours  about  something  rich, 
and  you  will  never  let  go.  It  sounds  absurd  to  go 
up  against  this  Wooddrop,  a  despot  and  a  firmly 
established  power;  anyone  might  well  laugh  at 
me,  but  I  feel  a  little  sorry  for  the  older  man.  He 
doesn't  know  you. 

"You  haven't  got  insides,  sympathies,  weak 
nesses,  like  the  others  of  us;  the  thing  is  missing 
in  you  that  ordinarily  betrays  human  men  into 
slips;  yes — compassion.  You  are  not  pretty  to 
think  about,  Alex ;  but  I  suppose  power  never  really 
is.  You  know  I've  got  money  and  you  know,  too, 
that  you  can  have  it.  As  safe  with  you  as  in  a 
bank  vault!" 

"We'll  go  back  to  Eastlake  tomorrow,"  Hulings 
decided,  "lay  out  our  plans,  and  draw  up  papers. 
We'll  buy  the  loose  timber  quietly  through  agents; 
I'll  never  appear  in  any  of  it.  After  that  we  can 
let  out  the  contracts  for  two  furnaces.  I  don't 
know  anything  about  them  now;  but  I  shall  in  a 
week.  Wishon  had  better  live  on  here,  pottering 
about  the  forge,  until  he  can  be  sent  to  Pittsburgh 
after  workmen.  His  pay  will  start  tomorrow." 

"What  about  Tubal  Cain,  and  that  fellow— 
what's  his  name?" 

"Claypole,  James.  I'll  keep  a  record  of  what 
his  forge  makes,  along  with  mine,  and  bank  it. 
Common  safety.  Then  I  must  get  over  to  New 
York,  see  the  market  there,  men.  I  have  had  let 
ters  from  an  anchor  foundry  in  Philadelphia. 

[59] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

There  are  nail  factories,  locomotive  shops,  stove 
plate,  to  furnish.  A  hundred  industries.  I'll  have 
them  here  in  time — rolling  mills  you  will  hear  back 
in  the  mountains.  People  on  the  packets  will  see 
the  smoke  of  my  furnaces — Alexander  Hulings' 
iron!" 

"You  might  furnish  me  with  a  pass,  so  that  I 
could  occasionally  walk  through  and  admire," 
Veneada  said  dryly. 

Hulings  never  heard  him. 

"I'll  have  a  mansion,"  he  added  abstractedly, 
"better  than  Wooddrop's,  with  more  rooms " 

"All  full,  I  suppose,  of  little  glorious  Hu- 
lingses!"  the  doctor  interrupted. 

Alexander  regarded  him  unmoved.  His  thoughts 
suddenly  returned  to  Hallie  Flower.  He  saw  her 
pale,  strained  face,  her  clasped  hands;  he  heard 
the  thin  echo  of  her  mingled  patience  and  dismay: 
"Then  I'll  never  be  married!"  There  was  no 
answering  stir  of  regret,  remorse;  she  slipped  for 
ever  out  of  his  consciousness,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
shadow  vanishing  before  a  flood  of  hard,  white 
light. 


[60] 


GREATLY  to  Alexander  Rulings'  relief, 
Doctor  Veneada  never  considered  the  pos 
sibility  of  a  partnership;  it  was  as  far 
from  one  man's  wish,  for  totally  different  reasons, 
as  from  the  other's. 

"No,  no,  Alex,"  he  declared;  "  I  couldn't  manage 
it.  Some  day,  when  you  were  out  of  the  office,  the 
widow  or  orphan  would  come  in  with  the  fore 
closure,  and  I  would  tear  up  the  papers.  Seriously, 
I  won't  do — I'm  fat  and  easy  and  lazy.  My  money 
would  be  safer  with  me  carefully  removed  from 
the  scene." 

In  the  end  Alexander  protected  Veneada  with 
mortgages  on  the  timber  and  land  he  secured  about 
Harmony  through  various  agents  and  under  dif 
ferent  names.  Some  of  the  properties  he  bought 
outright,  but  in  the  majority  he  merely  purchased 
options  on  the  timber.  His  holdings  in  the  latter 
finally  extended  in  a  broad,  irregular  belt  about 
the  extended  local  industries  of  John  Wooddrop. 
It  would  be  impossible  for  the  latter,  when,  in  per 
haps  fifteen  years,  he  had  exhausted  his  present 
forests,  to  cut  an  acre  of  wood  within  practicable 
hauling  distance.  This  accomplished,  a  momen- 

[61] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

tary  grim  satisfaction  was  visible  on  Hillings' 
somber  countenance. 

He  had,  however,  spent  all  the  money  furnished 
by  Doctor  Veneada,  without  setting  the  foundations 
of  the  furnaces  and  forges  he  had  projected,  and 
he  decided  not  to  go  to  his  friend  for  more.  There 
were  two  other  possible  sources  of  supply:  allied 
iron  industries — the  obvious  recourse — and  the 
railroads.  The  latter  seemed  precarious;  every 
where  people,  and  even  print,  were  ridiculing  the 
final  usefulness  of  steam  traffic;  it  was  judged  un 
fit  for  heavy  and  continuous  hauling — a  toy  of 
inventors  and  fantastic  dreaming;  canals  were, the 
obviously  solid  means  of  transportation.  But 
Alexander  Hulings  became  fanatical  overnight  in 
his  belief  in  the  coming  empire  of  steam. 

With  a  small  carpetbag,  holding  his  various 
deeds  and  options,  and  mentally  formulating  a 
vigorous  expression  of  his  opinions  and  projections, 
he  sought  the  doubting  capital  behind  the  Colum 
bus  Transportation  Line.  When,  a  month  later, 
he  returned  to  Tubal  Cain,  it  was  in  the  company 
of  an  expert  industrial  engineer,  and  with  credit 
sufficient  for  the  completion  of  his  present  plans. 
He  had  been  gone  a  month,  but  he  appeared  older 
by  several  years.  Alexander  Hulings  had  forced 
from  reluctant  sources,  from  men  more  wily,  if  less 
adamantine,  than  himself,  what  he  desired;  but  in 
return  he  had  been  obliged  to  grant  almost  impos 
sibly  favorable  contracts  and  preferences.  A  tre- 

[62] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

mendous  pressure  of  responsiblity  had  gathered 
about  him;  but  under  it  he  was  still  erect,  coldly 
confident,  and  carried  himself  with  the  special 
pugnacity  of  small,  vain  men. 

On  a  day  in  early  June,  a  year  from  the  delivery 
of  his  first  contract  at  Tubal  Cain,  he  stood  in  a 
fine  rain  at  the  side  of  a  light  road  wagon,  drawn, 
like  John  Wooddrop's,  by  two  sweeping  young 
horses,  held  by  a  negro,  and  watched  the  final  courses 
of  his  new  furnace.  The  furnace  itself,  a  solid 
structure  of  unmasoned  stone,  rose  above  thirty  feet, 
narrowed  at  the  top  almost  to  half  the  width  of  its 
base.  Directly  against  its  face  and  hearth  was 
built  the  single  high  interior  of  the  cast  house,  into 
which  the  metal  would  be  run  on  a  sand  pig  bed 
to  harden  into  commercial  iron. 

On  the  hill  rising  abruptly  at  the  back  was  the 
long  wall  of  the  coal  house,  with  an  entrance  and 
runway  leading  to  the  opening  at  the  top  of  the  fur 
nace  stack.  Lower  down,  the  curving  artificial 
channel  of  the  forebay  swept  to  where  the  water 
would  fall  on  a  ponderous  overshot  wheel  and 
drive  the  great  tilted  bellows  that  blasted  the  fur 
nace. 

The  latter,  Alexander  knew,  must  have  a  name. 
Most  furnaces  were  called  after  favorite  women; 
but  there  were  no  such  sentimental  objects  in  his 
existence.  He  recalled  the  name  of  the  canal 
packet  that  had  first  drawn  him  out  to  Harmony — 
the  Hit  or  Miss.  JNo  casual  title  such  as  that 

[63] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

would  fit  an  enterprise  of  his.  He  thought  of  Tubal 
Cain,  and  then  of  Jim  Claypole.  He  owed  the 
latter  something;  and  yet  he  wouldn't  have  another 
man's  name.  .  .  .  Conrad  Wishon  had  surmised 
that  the  owner  of  Tubal  Cain  had  vanished — like 
Elijah — on  a  Glory-wagon.  That  was  it — Glory 
Furnace!  He  turned  and  saw  John  Wooddrop 
leaning  forward  out  of  his  equipage,  keenly  study 
ing  the  new  buildings. 

"That's  a  good  job,"  the  Ironmaster  allowed; 
"but  it  should  be,  built  by  Henry  Bayard,  the  first 
man  in  the  country.  It  ought  to  do  very  well  for 
five  or  six  years." 

"Fifty,"  Hulings  corrected  him. 

John  Wooddrop's  eyes  were  smiling. 

"It's  all  a  question  of  charcoal,"  he  explained, 
as  Wishon  had,  long  before.  "To  be  frank,  I  ex 
pect  a  little  difficulty  myself,  later.  It  is  surpris 
ing  how  generally  properties  have  been  newly 
bought  in  the  county.  I  know,  because  lately  I, 
too,  have  been  reaching  out.  Practically  all  the 
available  stuff  has  been  secured.  Thousands  of 
acres  above  you,  here,  have  been  taken  by  a  com 
pany,  hotel — or  something  of  the  sort." 

"The  Venealic  Company,"  Hulings  said;  and 
then,  in  swelling  pride,  he  added:  "That's  me!" 
Wooddrop's  gaze  hardened.  Alexander  Hulings 
thought  the  other's  face  grew  paler.  His  impor 
tance,  his  sense  of  accomplishment,  of  vindication, 

[64] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

completely  overwhelmed  him.  "And  beyond,  it  is 
me!"  he  cried.  "And  back  of  that,  again!"  He 
made  a  wide,  sweeping  gesture  with  his  arm. 
"Over  there;  the  Hezekiah  Mills  tract — that's  me 
too;  and  the  East  purchase,  and  on  and  round. 
Fifty!  This  Glory  Furnace,  and  ten  others,  could 
run  on  for  a  century. 

"You've  been  the  big  thing  here — even  in  the 
state.  You  are  known  on  canal  boats,  people 
point  you  out;  yes,  and  patronize  me.  You  did 
that  yourself — you  and  your  women.  But  it  is 
over;  I'm  coming  now,  and  John  Wooddrop's 
going.  You  are  going  with  those  same  canal  boats, 
and  Alexander  Hulings  is  rising  with  the  rail 
roads." 

He  pounded  himself  on  the  chest,  and  then 
suddenly  stopped.  It  was  the  only  impassioned 
speech,  even  in  the  disastrous  pursuit  of  the  law, 
that  he  had  ever  made;  and  it  had  an  impotent, 
foolish  ring  in  his  ear,  his  deliberate  brain.  He 
instantly  disowned  all  that  part  of  him  which  had 
betrayed  his  ordinary  silent  caution  into  such  windy 
boasting.  Hulings  was  momentarily  abashed  be 
fore  the  steady  scrutiny  of  John  Wooddrop. 

"When  I  first  saw  you,"  the  latter  pronounced, 
"I  concluded  that  you  were  unbalanced.  Now  I 
think  that  you  are  a  maniac!" 

He  spoke  curtly  to  his  driver,  and  was  sharply 
whirled  away  through  the  grey-green  veil  of  rain 

[65] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

and  foliage.  Hulings  was  left  with  an  aggravated 
discontent  and  bitterness  toward  the  older  man, 
who  seemed  to  have  the  ability  always  to  place  him 
in  an  unfavorable  light. 


[66] 


DOCTOR  VENEADA  returned  for  the  first 
run  of  metal  from  Glory  Furnace;  there 
were  two  representatives  of  the  other  capi 
tal  invested,  and,  with  Alexander  Hulings,  Conrad 
Wishon,  and  some  local  spectators,  they  stood  in 
the  gloom  of  the  cast  house  waiting  for  the  founder 
to  tap  the  clay  sealing  of  the  hearth.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  rush  of  crackling  white  light,  pouring 
sparks,  and  the  boiling  liquid  flooded  out,  rapidly 
filling  the  molds  radiating  from  the  channels 
stamped  in  the  sand  bed.  The  incandescent  iron 
flushed  from  silver  to  darker,  warmer  tones. 

A  corresponding  warmth  ran  through  Alexander 
Hulings'  body;  Glory  Furnace  was  his;  it  had  been 
conceived  by  him  and  his  determination  had 
brought  it  to  an  actuality.  He  would  show  Wood- 
drop  a  new  type  of  "maniac."  This  was  the  second 
successful  step  in  his  move  against  the  Ironmaster, 
in  the  latter's  own  field.  Then  he  realized  that  he, 
too,  might  now  be  called  Ironmaster.  He  directed 
extensive  works  operated  under  his  name;  he,  Hu 
lings,  was  the  head !  Already  there  were  more  than 
a  hundred  men  to  do  what  he  directed,  go  where  he 
wished.  The  feeling  of  power,  of  consequence, 
quickened  through  him.  Alexander  held  himself, 

[67] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

|if  possible,  more  rigidly  than  before;  he  followed 
every  minute  turn  of  the  casting,  tersely  admonish 
ing  a  laborer. 

He  was  dressed  with  the  utmost  care;  a  marked 
niceness  of  apparel  now  distinguished  him.  His 
whiskers  were  closely  trimmed,  his  hair  brushed 
high  under  a  glossy  tile  hat;  he  wore  checked 
trousers,  strapped  on  glazed  Wellington  boots,  a 
broadcloth  coat,  fitted  closely  to  his  waist,  with  a 
deep  rolling  collar;  severe  neckcloth,  and  a  num 
ber  of  seals  on  a  stiff  twill  waistcoat.  Veneada,  as 
always,  was  carelessly  garbed  in  wrinkled  silk  and 
a  broad  planter's  hat.  It  seemed  to  Alexander 
that  the  other  looked  conspicuously  older  than  he 
had  only  a  few  months  back;  the  doctor's  face  was 
pendulous,  the  pouches  beneath  his  eyes  livid. 

Alexander  Hulings  quickly  forgot  this  in  the 
immediate  pressure  of  manufacture.  The  younger 
Wishon,  who  had  followed  his  father  into  Alexan 
der's  service,  now  came  down  from  the  charcoal 
stacks  in  a  great  sectional  wagon  drawn  by  six 
mules,  collared  in  bells  and  red  streamers.  The 
pigs  were  sledged  in  endless  procession  from  Glory, 
and  then  from  a  second  furnace,  to  the  forges  that 
reached  along  the  creek  in  each  direction  from 
Tubal  Cain.  The  latter  was  worked  as  vigorously 
as  possible,  but  Alexander  conducted  its  finances  in 
a  separate,  private  column;  all  the  profit  he  banked 
to  the  credit  of  James  Claypole.  He  did  this  not 
from  a  sense  of  equity,  but  because  of  a  deeper, 

[68] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

more  obscure  feeling,  almost  a  superstition,  that 
such  ackowledgment  of  the  absent  man's  unwitting 
assistance  was  a  safeguard  of  further  good  for 
tune. 

The  months  fled  with  amazing  rapidity;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  one  day  the  ground  was  shrouded 
in  snow,  and  on  the  next  the  dogwood  was  bloom 
ing.  No  man  in  all  his  properties  worked  harder 
or  through  longer  hours  than  Alexander;  the  night 
shift  at  a  forge  would  often  see  him  standing  grimly 
in  the  lurid  reflections  of  the  hearths;  charcoal 
burners,  eating  their  flitch  and  potatoes  on  an  out 
lying  mountain,  not  infrequently  heard  the  beat  of 
his  horse's  hoofs  on  the  soft  moss,  his  domineering 
voice  bullying  them  for  some  slight  oversight.  He 
inspired  everywhere  a  dread  mingled  with  grudging 
admiration ;  it  was  known  that  he  forced  every  pos 
sible  ounce  of  effort  from  workman  and  beast. 

Nevertheless,  toward  the  end  of  the  third  summer 
of  his  success  he  contracted  a  lingering  fever,  and 
he  was  positively  commanded  to  leave  his  labors 
for  a  rest  and  change.  Wrapped  in  a  shawl,  he  sat 
on  the  porch  of  the  house  he  had  commenced  build 
ing,  on  a  rise  overlooking  the  eddying  smoke  of  his 
industries,  and  considered  the  various  places  that 
offered  relaxation;  he  could  go  to  the  sea,  at  Long 
Branch,  or  to  Saratoga,  the  gayety  and  prodigality 
of  which  were  famous.  .  .  .  But  his  thought  re 
turned  to  his  collapse  four  years  before;  he  heard 
Veneada  counseling  him  to  take  the  water  of 

[69] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

the  Mineral  Springs.  He  had  been  too  poor 
then  for  the  Mineral;  had  he  gone  there,  he  would 
have  arrived  unnoticed.  By  heaven,  he  would  go 
there  now!  It  was,  he  knew,  less  fashionable  than 
the  other  places;  its  day  had  been  twenty,  thirty 
years  before.  But  it  represented  once  more  his 
progress,  his  success;  and,  in  the  company  of  his 
personal  servant,  his  leather  boxes  strapped  at  the 
back  of  his  lightest  road  wagon,  he  set  out  the 
following  morning. 

Almost  sixty  miles  of  indifferent  roads  lay  before 
him;  and,  though  he  covered,  in  his  weakened  con 
dition,  far  more  than  half  the  distance  by  evening, 
he  was  forced  to  stay  overnight  at  a  roadside 
tavern.  The  way  was  wild  and  led  through  nar 
row,  dark  valleys,  under  the  shadow  of  uninhabited 
ridges,  and  through  swift  fords.  Occasionally  he 
passed  great,  slow  Conestoga  wagons,  entrained 
for  the  West;  leather-hooded,  ancient  vehicles;  and 
men  on  horses. 

The  wagon  broke  suddenly  into  the  smooth, 
green  valley  that  held  the  Mineral  Springs.  Against 
a  western  mountain  were  grouped  hotels;  a  bridge, 
crossing  a  limpid  stream;  pointed  kiosks  in  the 
Chinese  taste;  and  red  gravel  walks.  The  hotel 
before  which  Alexander  stopped — a  prodigiously 
long,  high  structure  painted  white — had  a  deep 
porch  across  its  face  with  slender  columns  towering 
up  unbroken  to  the  roof  and  festooned  with  trum 
pet  flowers.  A  bell  rang  loudly  for  dinner;  and 

[70] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

there  was  a  colorful  flow  of  crinoline  over  the  porch, 
a  perfumed  flowery  stir,  through  which  he  impa 
tiently  made  his  way,  followed  by  negro  boys  with 
his  luggage. 

Within,  the  office  was  high  and  bare,  with  a 
sweeping  staircase,  and  wide  doors  opened  on  a 
lofty  thronged  dining  room.  Above,  he  was  led 
through  interminable  narrow  corridors,  past  mul 
titudinous  closed  doors,  to  a  closetlike  room  com 
pletely  filled  by  a  narrow  bed,  a  chair,  and  a  corner 
washstand;  this,  with  some  pegs  in  the  calcined 
wall  and  a  bell  rope,  completed  the  provisions  for 
his  comfort.  His  toilet  was  hurried,  for  he  had 
been  warned  that  extreme  promptness  at  meals  was 
more  than  desirable;  and,  again  below,  he  was  led 
by  a  pompous  negro  between  long,  crowded  tables 
to  a  place  at  the  farther  end.  The  din  of  conversa 
tion  and  clatter  of  dishes  were  deafening.  In  the 
ceiling  great  connected  fans  were  languidly  pulled 
by  black  boys,  making  a  doubtful  circulation. 

His  dinner  was  cold  and  absurdly  inadequate, 
but  the  table  claret  was  palatable.  And,  after  the 
isolation  of  Tubal  Cain,  the  droves  of  festive  people 
absorbed  him.  Later,  at  the  bar,  he  came  across  an 
acquaintance,  a  railroad  director,  who  pointed  out 
to  Alexander  what  notables  were  present.  There 
was  an  Englishman,  a  lord;  there  was  Bartram 
Ainscough,  a  famous  gambler;  there — Alexander's 
arm  was  grasped  by  his  companion. 

"See  that  man — no,  farther — dark,  in  a  linen 
[71] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

suit?  Well,  that's  Partridge  Sinnox,  of  New  Or 
leans."  He  grew  slightly  impatient  at  Hillings' 
look  of  inquiry.  "Never  heard  of  him!  Best- 
known  pistol  shot  in  the  States.  A  man  of  the 
highest  honor.  Will  go  out  on  the  slightest  provo 
cation."  His  voice  lowered.  "He's  said  to  have 
killed  twelve — no  less.  His  companion  there,  from 
Louisiana  too,  never  leaves  him.  Prodigiously 
rich:  canefields." 

Alexander  Hulings  looked  with  small  interest  at 
the  dueller  and  his  associate.  The  former  had  a 
lean,  tanned  face,  siriall  black  eyes  that  held  each 
a  single  point  of  light,  and  long,  precise  hands. 
Here,  Alexander  thought,  was  another  form  of  pub 
licity,  different  from  his  own.  As  always,  his  lips 
tightened  in  a  faint  contempt  at  pretensions  other 
than  his,  or  threatening  to  his  preeminence.  Sinnox 
inspired  none  of  the  dread  or  curiosity  evident  in 
his  companion;  and  he  turned  from  him  to  the  in 
spection  of  a  Pennsylvania  coal  magnate. 

The  colonnade  of  the  hotel  faced  another  culti 
vated  ridge,  on  which  terraced  walks  mounted  to  a 
pavilion  at  the  crest;  and  there,  through  the  late 
afternoon,  he  rested  and  gazed  down  at  the  Springs 
or  over  to  the  village  beyond.  Alexander  was 
wearier  than  he  had  supposed ;  the  iron  seemed  sud 
denly  insupportably  burdensome;  a  longing  for 
lighter,  gayer  contacts  possessed  him.  He  wanted 
to  enter  the  relaxations  of  the  Springs. 

Dancing,  he  knew,  was  customary  after  supper; 
[72] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

and  he  lingered  over  a  careful  toilet — bright  blue 
coat,  tight  black  trousers,  and  flat,  glistening  slip 
pers,  with  a  soft  cambric  ruffle.  Alexander  Hu- 
lings  surveyed  his  countenance  in  a  scrap  of  mirror, 
and  saw,  with  mingled  surprise  and  discontent, 
that  he — like  Veneada — bore  unmistakable  signs  of 
age,  marks  of  strife  and  suffering ;  his  whiskers  had 
an  evident  silvery  sheen.  Life,  receding  unnoticed, 
had  set  him  at  the  verge  of  middle  age.  But  at 
least,  he  thought,  his  was  not  an  impotent  medial 
period;  if,  without  material  success,  he  had  unex 
pectedly  seen  the  slightly  drawn  countenance  meet 
ing  him  in  the  mirror,  he  would  have  killed  himself. 
He  realized  that  coldly.  He  could  never  have 
survived  an  established  nonentity.  As  it  was, 
descending  the  stairs  to  supper,  immaculate  and 
disdainful,  he  was  upheld  by  the  memory  of  his 
accomplishments,  his  widening  importance,  weight. 
He  actually  heard  a  whispered  comment:  "Hulings, 


iron." 


[73] 


VII 


AFTER  supper  the  furnishings  of  the  dining 
room  were  swept  aside  by  a  troop  of 
waiters,  while  a  number  of  the  latter,  with 
fiddles  and  cornets,  were  grouped  on  a  table,  over 
which  a  green  cloth  had  been  spread.  With  the 
inevitable  scraping  of  strings  and  preliminary  un 
attended  dance,  a  quadrille  was  formed.  Alexan 
der,  lounging  with  other  exactly  garbed  males  in 
the  doorway,  watched  with  secret  envy  the  partici 
pants  in  the  figures  gliding  from  on'e  to  another. 
As  if  from  another  life  he  recalled  their  names; 
they  were  dancing  Le  Pantalon  now;  La  Poulee 
would  follow;  then  the  Pastorale  and  L'Ete. 

Above  the  spreading  gauze,  the  tulle  and  glace 
silks  of  the  women,  immense  candelabra  of  glass 
pendants  and  candles  shone  and  glittered;  the 
rustle  of  crinoline,  of  light  passing  feet,  sounded 
below  the  violins  and  blown  cornets,  the  rich  husky 
voices  calling  the  changes  of  the  quadrille. 

He  was  troubled  by  an  obscure  desire  to  be  a 
center  of  interest,  of  importance,  for  the  graceful 
feminine  world  about  him.  Sinnox,  the  man  from 
New  Orleans,  was  bowing  profoundly  to  his  part 
ner;  a  figure  broke  up  into  a  general  boisterous 

[74] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

gallopading — girls,  with  flushed  cheeks,  swinging 
curls,  spun  from  masculine  shoulder  to  shoulder. 
The  dance  ended,  and  the  floating,  perfumed  skirts 
passed  him  in  a  soft  flood  toward  the  porch. 

Without,  the  colonnade  towered  against  a  sky 
bright  with  stars;  the  night  was  warm  and  still. 
Alexander  Hulings  was  lonely;  he  attempted  to 
detain  the  acquaintance  met  in  the  bar,  but  the 
other,  bearing  a  great  bouquet  of  rosebuds  in  a 
lace-paper  cone,  hurried  importantly  away.  A 
subdued  barytone  was  singing:  "Our  Way  Across 
the  Mountain,  Ho!"  The  strains  of  a  waltz,  the 
Carlotta-Grisi,  drifted  out,  and  a  number  of  couples 
answered  its  invitation. 

A  group  at  the  iron  railing  across  the  foot  of 
the  colonnade  attracted  his  attention  by  its  exces 
sive  gayety.  The  center,  he  saw,  was  a  young 
woman,  with  smooth  bandeaux  and  loops  of  black 
hair,  and  a  goya  lily  caught  below  her  ear.  She 
was  not  handsome,  but  her  features  were  animated, 
and  her  shoulders  as  finely  white  and  sloping  as 
an  alabaster  vase. 

It  was  not  this  that  held  his  attention,  but  a  sense 
of  familiarity,  a  feeling  that  he  had  seen  her  be 
fore.  He  walked  past  the  group,  without  plan, 
and,  meeting  her  gaze,  bowed  awkwardly  in  re 
sponse  to  a  hesitating  but  unmistakable  smile  of 
recognition.  Alexander  stopped,  and  she  imperi 
ously  waved  him  to  join  the  number  about  her. 
He  was  in  a  cold  dread  of  the  necessity  of  admit- 

[75] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

ting,  before  so  many,  that  he  could  not  recall  her 
name;  but  obviously  all  that  she  desired  was  to 
swell  the  circle  of  her  admirers,  for,  beyond  a 
second  nod,  she  ignored  him. 

The  Southerner  was  at  her  shoulder,  maintain 
ing  a  steady  flow  of  repartee,  and  Alexander  envied 
him  his  assured  presence,  his  dark,  distinguished 
appearance.  The  man  who  had  been  indicated  as 
Sinnox'  companion  stood  by  Hulings,  and  the  latter 
conceived  a  violent  prejudice  for  the  other's  meager 
yellow  face  and  spiderlike  hand,  employed  with  a 
cheroot. 

Alexander  hoped  that  somebody  would  repeat 
the  name  of  the  girl  who  had  spoken  to  him.  A 
woman  did,  but  only  in  the  contracted,  familiar 
form  of  Gisela.  .  .  .  Gisela — he  had  heard  that 
too.  Suddenly  she  affected  to  be  annoyed;  she 
arched  her  fine  brows  and  glanced  about,  her  gaze 
falling  upon  Alexander  Hulings.  Before  he  was 
aware  of  her  movement  a  smooth  white  arm  was 
thrust  through  his;  he  saw  the  curve  of  a  pow 
dered  cheek,  an  elevated  chin. 

"Do  take  me  out  of  this! "  she  demanded.  "New 
Orleans  molasses  is — well,  too  thick." 

Obeying  the  gentle  pressure  of  her  arm,  he  led 
her  down  the  steps  to  the  graveled  expanse  below. 
She  stopped  by  a  figure  of  the  Goddess  of  Health, 
in  filigree  on  mossy  rocks,  pouring  water  from  an 
urn.  Her  gown  was  glazed  green  muslin,  with  a 

[76] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

mist  of  white  tulle,  shining  with  particles  of  silver. 
The  goya  lily  exhaled  a  poignant  scent. 

"I  didn't  really  leave  because  of  Mr.  Sinnox," 
she  admitted;  "a  pin  was  scratching,  and  I  was 
devoured  with  curiosity  to  know  who  you  were, 
where  I  had  met " 

Suddenly,  in  a  flash  of  remembered  misery,  of 
bitter  resentment,  he  recognized  her — Gisela,  John 
Wooddrop's  daughter.  The  knowledge  pinched 
at  his  heart  with  malicious  fingers ;  the  starry  night, 
the  music  and  gala  attire,  his  loneliness  had  be 
trayed  him  into  an  unusual  plasticity  of  being. 
He  delayed  for  a  long  breath,  and  then  said  dryly: 
"I'm  Alexander  Hulings." 

"Not "  she  half  cried,  startled.     She  drew 

away  from  him,  and  her  face  grew  cold.  In  the 
silence  that  followed  he  was  conscious  of  the  flower's 
perfume  and  the  insistent  drip  of  the  water  falling 
from  the  urn.  "But  I  haven't  met  you  at  all," 
she  said;  "I  don't  in  the  least  know  you."  Her 
attitude  was  insolent,  and  yet  she  unconsciously 
betrayed  a  faint  curiosity.  "I  think  you  lacked 
delicacy  to  join  my  friends — to  bring  me  out  here! " 

"I  didn't,"  he  reminded  her;  "you  brought  me." 

Instantly  he  cursed  such  clumsy  stupidity.  Her 
lower  lip  protruded  disdainfully. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  dropping  a  curtsy,  "but 
I  needn't  keep  you." 

She  swept  away  across  the  gravel  and  up  the 
[77] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

stairs  to  the  veranda.  It  was  evident  that  the  group 
had  not  separated;  for  almost  immediately  there 
rose  a  concerted  laughter,  a  palpable  mockery, 
drifting  out  to  Alexander. 

His  face  was  hot,  his  hands  clenched  in  angry 
resentment.  More  than  anything  else,  he  shrank 
from  being  an  object  of  amusement,  of  gibes.  It 
was  necessary  to  his  self-esteem  to  be  met  with 
grave  appreciation. 

This  was  his  first  experience  of  the  keen  assaults 
of  social  weapons,  and  it  inflicted  on  him  an  extrav 
agant  suffering.  His  instinct  was  to  retire  far 
ther  into  the  night,  only  to  return  to  his  room  when 
the  hotel  was  dark,  deserted.  But  a  second, 
stronger  impulse  sent  him  deliberately  after  Gisela 
Wooddrop,  up  the  veranda  stairs,  and  rigidly  past 
the  group  gazing  at  him  with  curious  mirth. 

An  oil  flare  fixed  above  them  shone  down  on  the 
lean,  saturnine  countenance  of  Partridge  Sinnox. 
The  latter,  as  he  caught  Alexander  Hulings'  gaze, 
smiled  slightly. 

That  expression  followed  Alexander  to  his 
cramped  room;  it  mocked  him  as  he  viciously 
pulled  at  the  bell  rope,  desiring  his  servant;  it  was 
borne  up  to  him  on  the  faint  strains  of  the  violins. 
And  in  the  morning  it  clouded  his  entire  outlook. 
Sinnox'  smile  expressed  a  contempt  that  Alexander 
Hulings'  spirit  could  not  endure.  From  the  first 
he  had  been  resentful  of  the  Southerner's  cheap 

[78] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

prestige.     He  added  the  qualifying  word  as  he  de 
scended  to  breakfast. 

Sinnox,  as  a  dueller,  roused  Hulings'  impatience; 
he  had  more  than  once  faced  impromptu  death — 
iron  bars  in  the  hands  of  infuriated  employees,  and 
he  had  overborne  them  with  a  cold  phrase.  This 
theatrical  playing  with  pistols — cheap!  Later,  in 
the  crowded  bar,  he  was  pressed  elbow  to  elbow 
with  Sinnox  and  his  companion;  and  he  automati 
cally  and  ruthlessly  cleared  sufficient  space  for  his 
comfort.  Sinnox'  associate  said,  in  remonstrance: 

"Sir,  there  are  others — perhaps  more  consider 
able." 

"Perhaps ! "  Alexander  Hulings  carelessly  agreed. 

Sinnox  gazed  down  on  him  with  narrowed  eyes. 

"I  see  none  about  us,"  he  remarked,  "who  would 
have  to  admit  the  qualification." 

Alexander's  bitterness  increased,  became  aggres 
sive.  He  met  Sinnox'  gaze  with  a  stiff,  dangerous 
scorn: 

"In  your  case,  at  least,  it  needn't  stand." 

"Gentlemen,"  the  third  cried,  "no  more,  I  beg 
of  you."  He  grasped  Alexander  Hulings'  arm. 
"Withdraw!"  he  advised.  "Mr.  Sinnox'  temper  is 
fatal.  Beyond  a  certain  point  it  cannot  be  leashed. 
It  has  caused  great  grief.  Gentlemen,  I  beg " 

"Do  you  mean "  Sinnox  demanded,  and  his 

face  was  covered  by  an  even,  dark  flush  to  the 
sweep  of  his  hair. 

[79] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Cheap!"  Alexander's  voice  was  sudden  and  un 
premeditated. 

The  other's  temper  rose  in  a  black  passion;  he 
became  so  enraged  that  his  words  were  mere  un 
intelligible  gasps.  His  hand  shook  so  that  he 
dropped  a  glass  of  rock-and-rye  splintering  on 
the  floor.  "At  once!"  he  finally  articulated. 
"Scurvy " 

"This  couldn't  be  helped,"  his  companion  pro 
claimed,  agitated.  "I  warned  the  other  gentleman, 
Mr.  Sinnox  is  not  himself  in  a  rage,  his  record  is 
well  known.  He  was  elbowed  aside  by " 

"Alexander  Hulings!"  that  individual  pro 
nounced. 

He  was  aware  of  the  gaze  of  the  crowding  men 
about  him;  already  he  was  conscious  of  an  admira 
tion  roused  by  the  mere  fact  of  his  facing  a  notori 
ous  bully.  Cheap!  The  director  joined  him. 

"By  heavens,  Hulings,  you're  in  dangerous 
water.  I  understand  you  have  no  family." 

"None!"  Alexander  stated  curtly. 

Illogically  he  was  conscious  of  the  scent  of  a 
goya  lily.  Sinnox  was  propelled  from  the  jbar, 
and  his  friend  reappeared  and  conferred  with  the 
director. 

"At  once!"  Hulings  heard  the  former  announce. 
"Mr.  Sinnox  .  .  .  unbearable!" 

"Have  you  a  case  of  pistols?"  the  director  asked. 
"Mr.  Sinnox  offers  his.  I  believe  there  is  a  quiet 
opening  back  of  the  bathhouse.  But  my  earnest 

[80] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

advice  to  you  is  to  withdraw;  you  will  be  very 
little  blamed;  this  man  is  notorious,  a  professional 
fighter.  You  have  only  to  say " 

Cheap!  Alexander  thought  again,  fretful  at 
having  been  involved  in  such  a  ridiculous  affair. 
He  was  even  more  deliberate  than  usual ;  but,  though 
he  was  certain  of  his  entire  normality,  the  faces 
about  him  resembled  small,  bobbing  balloons. 

Alexander  finished  his  drink — surprised  to  find 
himself  still  standing  by  the  bar — and  silently  fol 
lowed  the  director  through  the  great  hall  of  the 
hotel  out  on  to  the  veranda,  and  across  the  grass 
to  a  spot  hidden  from  the  valley  by  the  long,  low 
bulk  of  the  bathing  house. 

Sinnox  and  his  companion,  with  a  polished 
mahogany  box,  were  already  there;  a  small,  curi 
ous  group  congregated  in  the  distance.  Sinnox' 
friend  produced  long  pistols  with  silken-brown  bar 
rels  and  elegantly  carved  ivory  stocks,  into  which 
he  formally  rammed  powder  and  balls.  Alexander 
Hulings  was  composed;  but  his  fingers  were  cold, 
slightly  numb,  and  he  rubbed  them  together  an 
grily.  Not  for  an  instant  did  he  think  that  he 
might  be  killed;  other  curious,  faint  emotions  as 
sailed  him — long-forgotten  memories  of  distant 
years;  Veneada's  kindly  hand  on  his  shoulder;  the 
mule  called  Alexander  because  of  its  aptitude  for 
hard  labor;  John  Wooddrop's  daughter. 

He  saw  that  the  pistols  had  been  loaded;  their 
manipulator  stood  with  them,  butts  extended,  in  his 

[81] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

grasp.  He  began  a  preamble  of  customary  ex 
planation,  which  he  ended  by  demanding,  for  his 
principal,  an  apology  from  Alexander  Hulings. 
The  latter,  making  no  reply,  was  attracted  by  Sin 
nox'  expression  of  deepening  passion;  the  man's 
face,  he  thought,  positively  was  black.  Partridge 
Sinnox'  entire  body  was  twitching  with  rage.  .  .  . 
Curious,  for  a  seasoned,  famous  dueller! 

Suddenly  Sinnox,  with  a  broken  exclamation, 
swung  on  his  heel,  grasped  one  of  the  pistols  in 
his  second's  hands,  and  discharged  it  point-blank 
at  Alexander  Hulings. 

An  instant  confused  outcry  rose.  Alexander 
heard  the  term  " Insane!"  pronounced,  as  if  in  ex 
tenuation,  by  Sinnox'  friend.  The  latter  held  the 
remaining,  undischarged  pistol  out  of  reach;  the 
other  lay  on  the  ground  before  Partridge  Sinnox. 
Alexander's  face  was  as  grey  as  granite. 

"That  was  the  way  he  did  it,"  he  unconsciously 
pronounced  aloud. 

He  wondered  slowly  at  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
unhit.  Then,  with  his  hand  in  a  pocket,  he  walked 
stiffly  up  to  within  a  few  feet  of  Sinnox,  and  pro 
duced  a  small,  ugly  derringer,  with  one  blunt  bar 
rel  on  top  of  the  other. 

At  the  stunning  report  that  followed,  the  vicious, 
stinging  cloud  of  smoke,  he  seemed  to  wake.  He 
felt  himself  propelled  away  from  the  vicinity  of 
the  bathhouse;  low,  excited  exclamations  beat  upon 
his  ears:  "Absolutely  justified!"  "Horrible  at- 

[82] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

tempt  to  murder!"  "Get  his  nigger  and  things. 
Best  for  the  present."  He  impatiently  shook  him 
self  free  from  his  small  following. 

"Did  I  kill  him?"  he  demanded. 

There  was  an  affirmative  silence. 

In  his  wagon,  driving  rapidly  toward  Tubal 
Cain,  a  sudden  sense  of  horror,  weakness,  overtook 
him;  the  roadside  rocked  beneath  his  vision. 

"Mordecai,"  he  said  to  his  coachman,  "I — I  shot 
a  man,  derringered  him." 

The  negro  was  unmoved. 

"Man  'at  fool  round  you,  he's  bound  to  be 
killed!"  he  asserted.  "Yes,  sir;  he  just  throwed 
himself  right  away!" 

Alexander  Hulings  wondered  how  John  Wood- 
drop's  daughter  would  be  affected.  At  least,  he 
thought  grimly,  once  more  self-possessed,  he  had 
put  a  stop  to  her  laughter  at  his  expense. 


TS3T 


VIII 

IN  the  weeks  that  followed  he  devoted  himself 
energetically  to  the  finishing  of  the  mansion 
in  course  of  erection  above  Tubal  Cain.  It 
was  an  uncompromising,  square  edifice  of  brick, 
with  a  railed  belvedere  on  the  roof,  and  a  front 
lawn  enclosed  by  a  cast-iron  fence.  On  each  side 
of  the  path  dividing  the  sod  were  wooden  Chinese 
pagodas  like  those  he  had  seen  at  the  Mineral 
Springs;  masoned  rings  for  flower  beds,  and  fern 
eries,  artificially  heaped  stones,  with  a  fine  spray 
from  concealed  pipes.  Rearing  its  solid  bulk 
against  the  living  greenery  of  the  forest,  it  was,  he 
told  himself  pridefully,  a  considerable  dwelling. 
Within  were  high  walls  and  flowery  ceilings,  Italian 
marble  mantels  and  tall  mirrors,  black  carved  and 
gilded  furniture,  and  brilliant  hassocks  on  thick- 
piled  carpet. 

The  greater  part  of  the  labor  was  performed  by 
the  many  skilled  workmen  now  employed  in  his 
furnaces  and  forges.  He  was  utterly  regardless  of 
cost,  obligations;  of  money  itself.  Alexander  had 
always  been  impatient  at  the  mere  material  fact 
of  wealth,  of  the  possession  and  the  accumulation 
of  sheer  gold.  To  him  it  was  nothing  more  than  a 
lever  by  which  he  moved  men  and  things;  it  was  a 

[84] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

ladder  that  carried  him  above  the  unnoticed  and 
unnotable.  He  could  always  get  money,  at  need, 
from  men  or  iron ;  to  debts  he  never  gave  a  thought 
— when  they  fell  due  they  were  discharged  or  car 
ried  forward. 

His  reason  for  finishing  his  dwelling  with  such 
elaboration  was  obscure.  Veneada  had  laughed  at 
him,  speaking  of  small  Hulingses,  but  he  harbored 
no  concrete  purpose  of  marriage;  there  was  even 
no  dominant  feminine  figure  in  his  thoughts. 
Perhaps  faintly  at  times  he  caught  the  odor  of  a 
goya  lily;  but  that  was  probably  due  to  the  fact 
that  lilies  were  already  blooming  in  the  circular 
conservatory  of  highly  colored  glass  attached  to 
his  veranda. 

The  greater  part  of  the  house  was  darkened, 
shrouded  in  linen.  He  would  see,  when  walking 
through  the  hall,  mysterious  and  shadowy  vistas, 
lengthened  endlessly  in  the  long  mirrors,  of  dusky 
carpet  and  alabaster  and  ormolu,  the  faint  glitter 
of  the  prisms  hung  on  the  mantel  lamps.  Clocks 
would  strike  sonorously  in  the  depths  of  halls, 
with  the  ripple  of  cathedral  chimes.  He  had  a 
housekeeper,  a  stout  person  in  oiled  curls,  and  a 
number  of  excessively  humble  negro  servants. 
Alexander  Hulings  got  from  all  this  an  acute  pleas 
ure.  It,  too,  was  a  mark  of  his  success. 

He  had,  below,  on  the  public  road,  a  small  edi 
fice  of  one  room,  which  formed  his  office,  and  there 
he  saw  the  vast  number  of  men  always  consulting 

[85] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

with  him;  he  never  took  them  above  to  his  house. 
And  when  they  dined  with  him  it  was  at  the  hotel, 
newly  built  by  the  packet  station  on  the  canal — 
functions  flooded  with  the  prodigal  amounts  of 
champagne  Hulings  thought  necessary  to  his  im 
portance. 

Most  of  his  days  were  spent  in  his  road  wagon, 
in  which  he  traveled  to  Pittsburgh,  West  Virginia, 
Philadelphia,  where  he  had  properties  or  interests. 
In  the  cities  of  his  associates  he  also  avoided  their 
homes,  and  met  them  in  hotels,  discussed  the  terms 
of  business  in  bars  or  public  parlors.  With  wo 
men  of  position  he  was  at  once  indifferent  and  ill 
at  ease,  constantly  certain  that  he  was  not  appear 
ing  to  good  advantage,  and  suspecting  their  asides 
and  enigmatic  smiles.  He  was  laboriously,  stiffly 
polite,  speaking  in  complimentary  flourishes  that 
sometimes  ended  in  abrupt  constraint.  At  this, 
afterward,  he  would  chafe,  and  damn  the  superior 
airs  of  women. 

He  had  returned  from  such  an  expedition  to 
Wheeling,  and  was  sitting  in  his  office,  when  a 
vehicle  pulled  up  before  his  door.  Deliberate  feet 
approached,  and  John  Wooddrop  entered.  The 
latter,  Alexander  realized  enviously,  was  an  exces 
sively  handsome  old  man;  he  had  a  commanding 
height  and  a  square,  highly  colored  countenance, 
with  close  white  sideburns  and  vigorous  silver  hair. 
His  manner,  too,  was  assured  and  easy.  He 
greeted  Alexander  Hulings  with  a  keen,  open  smile. 

[86] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Everything  is  splendid  here!"  he  proclaimed. 
"I  looked  in  that  chafery  down  stream,  and  the 
metal  was  worked  like  satin.  Fine  weather  for 
the  furnaces — rain's  ugly;  a  furnace  is  like  a 
young  girl." 

Hulings  wondered — contained  and  suspicious — 
what  the  other  wanted.  Wooddrop,  though  they 
passed  each  other  frequently  on  the  road,  had  not 
saluted  him  since  the  completion  of  Glory  Furnace. 
He  thought  for  a  moment  that  already  the  older 
man  was  feeling  the  pinch  of  fuel  scarcity  and  that 
he  had  come  to  beg  for  timber.  In  such  a  case 
Alexander  Hulings  decided  coldly  that  he  would 
not  sell  Wooddrop  an  ell  of  forest.  In  addition 
to  the  fact  that  the  complete  success  of  one  or  the 
other  depended  ultimately  on  his  rival's  failure,  he 
maintained  a  personal  dislike  of  John  Wooddrop; 
he  had  never  forgotten  the  humiliation  forced  on 
him  long  before,  in  the  dining  room  of  the  packet, 
the  Hit  or  Miss;  he  could  not  forgive  Wooddrop's 
preeminence  in  the  iron  field.  The  latter  was  a 
legend  of  the  manufacture  of  iron. 

However,  any  idea  of  the  other's  begging  privi 
lege  was  immediately  banished  by  John  Wood- 
drop's  equable  bearing.  He  said: 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Hulings,  about  a  rather 
delicate  matter.  In  a  way  it  is  connected  with  my 
daughter,  Gisela.  You  saw  her,  I  believe,  at  the 
Springs." 

Alexander  Hulings  somberly  inclined  his  head. 
[87] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Of  course,"  Wooddrop  continued,  "I  heard 
about  the  difficulty  you  had  with  that  Louisiana 
bravo.  I  understand  you  acted  like  a  man  of 
spirit  and  were  completely  exonerated;  in  fact,  I 
had  some  small  part  in  quashing  legal  complica 
tions.  This  was  done  not  on  your  account,  but 
because  of  Gisela,  who  confided  to  me  that  she 
held  herself  in  blame.  Mr.  Hulings,"  he  said 
gravely,  "my  feeling  for  my  daughter  is  not  the 
usual  affection  of  parent  for  child.  My  wife  is 

dead.  Gisela But  I  won't  open  a  personal 

subject  with  you.  I  spoke  as  I  did  merely,  in  a 
way,  to  prepare  you  for  what  follows.  My  daugh 
ter  felt  that  she  did  you  a  painful  wrong;  and  I 
have  come,  in  consequence,  to  offer  you  my  good 
will.  I  propose  that  we  end  our  competition  and 
proceed  together,  for  the  good  of  both.  Consoli 
dated,  we  should  inevitably  control  the  iron  situa 
tion  in  our  state;  you  are  younger,  more  vigorous 
than  myself,  and  I  have  a  certain  prestige.  Sir, 
I  offer  you  the  hand  of  friendly  cooperation." 

Alexander  Hulings'  gaze  narrowed  as  he  studied 
the  man  before  him.  At  first,  he  had  searched  for 
an  ulterior  motive,  need,  in  Wooddrop's  proposal; 
but  he  quickly  saw  that  the  proposal  had  been  com 
pletely  stated.  Illogically  he  thought  of  black 
ringleted  hair  and  glazed  muslin;  he  heard  the  echo 
of  water  dripping  from  a  stone  urn.  Lost  in  mem 
ories,  he  was  silent,  for  so  long  that  John  Wood- 
drop  palpably  grew  impatient.  He  cleared  his 

[88] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

throat  sharply;  but  Hulings  didn't  shift  a  muscle. 
Alexander  was  thinking  now  of  the  order  he  had 
filled  the  first  summer  at  Tubal  Cain,  of  his  bru 
tal  labor  and  bitter,  deferred  aspirations.  His 
rise,  alone,  had  been  at  the  price  of  ceaseless  strug 
gle;  it  was  not  yet  consummated;  but  it  would  be 
— it  must,  and  still  alone.  Nothing  should  rob 
him  of  the  credit  of  his  accomplishment;  no  person 
coupled  with  him  might  reduce  or  share  his  tri 
umph.  What  he  said  sounded  inexcusably  harsh 
after  the  other's  open  manner. 

"Only,"  he  said,  "only  if  the  amalgamated  in 
dustries  bear  my  name — the  Alexander  Hulings 
Iron  works. " 

John  Wooddrop's  face  darkened  as  he  compre 
hended  the  implied  insult  to  his  dignity  and  posi 
tion.  He  rose,  so  violently  thrusting  back  the 
chair  in  which  he  had  been  sitting,  that  it  fell  with 
a  clatter. 

"You  brass  trumpet!"  he  ejaculated.  "You  in 
tolerable  little  bag  of  vanity!  Will  you  never  see 
yourself  except  in  a  glass  of  flattery  or  intolerable 
self-satisfaction?  It  would  be  impossible  to  say 
which  you  inspire  most,  contempt  or  pity." 

Strangely  enough,  Hulings  didn't  resent  the 
language  applied  to  him.  He  gazed  at  Wooddrop 
without  anger.  The  other's  noise,  he  thought,  was 
but  a  symptom  of  his  coming  downfall.  He  was 
slowly  but  surely  drawing  the  rope  about  the  throat 
of  Wooddrop's  industries. 

[89] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

"Absolutely  the  last  time,"  the  other  stuttered. 
"Now  you  can  go  to  hell  on  your  own  high  horse! 
Blinded  by  your  own  fatuousness — don't  see  where 
the  country  is  running.  You  may  impose  on 
others,  but  I  know  your  business,  sir;  and  it's  as 
hollow  as  a  tin  plate  stove.  The  times  will  soon 
kick  it  in." 

John  Wooddrop  stamped  away  from  Hulings  in 
a  rage. 


[90] 


IX 


THAT  evening  Alexander  Hulings  wondered 
what  Gisela  had  told  her  father;  he  won- 
ered  more  vaguely  what  she  had  thought  of 
him — what,  if  at  all,  she  still  thought.  He  had 
had  a  formal  room  illuminated  for  his  cigar  after 
dinner;  and  he  sat,  a  small,  precise  figure,  with 
dust-colored  hair  and  a  somber,  intent  countenance, 
clasping  a  heavy  roll  of  expensive  tobacco,  in  a 
crimson  plush  chair.  The  silence,  the  emptiness 
about  him  was  filled  with  rich  color,  ponderous 
maroon  draperies,  marble  slabs  and  fretted  tulip- 
wood. 

It  suddenly  struck  him  that,  by  himself,  he  was 
slightly  ridiculous  in  such  opulence.  His  house 
needed  a  mistress,  a  creature  of  elegance  to  preside 
at  his  table,  to  exhibit  in  her  silks  and  jewels  an 
other  sign  of  his  importance.  Again,  as  if  from 
the  conservatory,  he  caught  a  faint  poignant  per 
fume. 

Gisela  Wooddrop  was  a  person  of  distinction, 
self-possessed  and  charming.  There  was  a  subtle 
flavor  in  thus  considering  her  father's  daughter — 
old  Wooddrop's  girl — and  himself.  He  rose  and 
walked  to  a  mirror,  critically  surveying  his  coun 
tenance;  yes,  it  was  well  marked  by  age,  yet  it 

[91] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

was  sharp  in  outline;  his  step  was  springy;  he  felt 
none  of  the  lassitude  of  increasing  years. 

He  was  in  his  prime.  Many  young  women 
would  prefer  him,  his  house  and  name,  to  the  windy 
pretensions  of  youthful  scapegoats.  A  diamond 
necklace  was  a  convincing  form  of  courtship. 
There  was  no  absolute  plan  in  his  thoughts  that 
night;  but,  in  the  dry  romantic  absorption  of  the 
days  that  followed,  a  fantastic  purpose  formed  and 
increased — he  determined  to  marry  Gisela  Wood- 
drop. 

He  had  for  this,  he  assured  himself,  some  slight 
encouragement;  it  was  patent  that  her  father  had 
entirely  misread  the  girl's  intent  in  suggesting  an 
end  to  the  hostilities  which  had  made  impossible 
any  social  intercourse.  She  was  interested  in  him; 
the  duel  with  Sinnox  had  captured  her  imagination. 
Women  responded  surprisingly  to  such  things. 
Then  she  had  held  that  it  had  been  partly  her  fault ! 
Now  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  understood  why  he 
had  built  so  elaborately  since  his  return  from  the 
Mineral  Springs;  unconsciously — all  the  while — 
it  had  been  for  his  wife,  for  Gisela. 

There  were  great  practical  difficulties  in  the 
realization  of  his  desire,  even  in  his  opportunity  to 
present  his  question;  to  see  Gisela  Wooddrop  long 
enough  and  sufficiently  privately  to  explain  all  he 
hoped.  He  was,  too,  far  past  the  age  of  romantic 
assignations,  episodes;  he  could  no  more  decorate 
a  moonlit  scene  beneath  a  window.  Alexander 

[92] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

must  not  count  on  adventitious  assistance  from 
emotional  setting:  his  offer  could  carry  only  its 
grave  material  solidity.  Often  he  laughed  curtly 
at  what  momentarily  seemed  an  absurd  fantasy,  a 
madness  approaching  senility;  then  his  pride  would 
flood  back,  reassert  the  strength  of  his  determina 
tion,  ithe  desirability  of  Alexander  Hulings. 


[93] 


THE  occasion  evaded  him;  the  simplicity  of 
his  wish,  of  the  bald  relationship  between 
the  Wooddrops  and  Tubal  Cain,  prevent 
ing  it  more  surely  than  a  multiplication  of  barriers, 
He  never  considered  the  possibility  of  a  compromise 
with  John  Wooddrop,  a  retreat  from  his  position. 
Alexander  thought  of  Gisela  as  a  possible  addition 
to  his  dignity  and  standing — of  the  few  women  he 
had  seen  she  possessed  the  greatest  attractions — 
and  he  gave  no  thought  of  a  sacrifice  to  gain  her. 
She  was  to  be  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  his  success — 
a  wife  to  honor  his  mansion,  to  greet  a  selected  few 
of  his  friends,  and  wear  the  gold  and  jewels  pur 
chased  by  the  Hulings  iron. 

He  made  no  overt  attempt  to  see  her,  but  waited 
for  opportunity.  Meantime  he  had  commenced  to 
think  of  her  in  terms  of  passionless  intimacy. 
Alexander  Hulings  was  a  solitary  man;  except  for 
his  industrial  activity  his  mind  was  empty;  and 
Gisela  Wooddrop  quickly  usurped  the  hours  after 
dinner,  the  long  drives  through  massed  and  un- 
scarred  forests.  He  recalled  her  minutely — every 
expression  that  he  had  seen,  every  variation  of 
dress.  Wooddrop's  daughter  was  handsomely 

[94] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

provided  for;  but  Alexander  Hillings'  wife  would 
be  a  revelation  in  luxury.  In  New  York  he  bought 
a  pair  of  India  cashmere  shawls,  paying  a  thou 
sand  dollars  for  them,  and  placed  them  on  a  chair, 
ready. 

The  weeks  multiplied;  and  he  got  such  pleasure 
from  the  mere  thought  of  Gisela  sweeping  through 
his  rooms,  accompanying  him  to  Philadelphia, 
shining  beside  him  at  the  opera,  that  he  became 
almost  reluctant  to  force  the  issue  of  her  choice. 
He  was  more  than  customarily  careful  with  his 
clothes;  his  silk  hats  were  immaculate;  his  trousers 
ranged  in  color  from  the  most  delicate  sulphur  to 
astounding  London  checks ;  he  had  his  yellow  boots 
polished  with  champagne,  his  handkerchiefs  scented 
with  essence  of  nolette  and  almond.  For  all  this, 
his  countenance  was  none  the  less  severe,  his  apti 
tude  for  labor  untouched;  he  followed  every  detail 
of  iron  manufacture,  every  improved  process,  every 
shift  in  the  market. 

The  valley  about  Tubal  Cain  now  resembled  a 
small,  widely  scattered  town;  the  dwellings  of  Hu- 
lings'  workmen  extended  to  the  property  line  of  the 
Blue  Lump  Furnace ;  roads  were  cut,  bridges  thrown 
across  the  stream.  The  flutter  of  wings,  the  pour 
ing  birdsong  and  vale  of  green,  that  Alexander  had 
found  had  given  place  to  a  continuous,  shattering 
uproar  day  and  night;  the  charging  of  furnaces, 
the  dull  thunder  of  the  heavy  wagons  of  blooms, 

[95] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

the  jangle  of  shingling  sledges  and  monotonous 
fall  of  trip  hammers,  mingled  and  rose  in  a  stridu- 
lous  volume  to  the  sky,  accompanied  by  chemical 
vapors,  uprushing  cinders  and  the  sooty  smoke  of 
the  forges.  A  company  store  had  been  built  and 
stocked,  and  grimy  troops  of  laborers  were  per 
petually  gathered,  off  shift,  by  its  face. 

Harmony  itself,  the  station  on  the  canal,  had 
expanded;  the  new  hotel,  an  edifice  of  brick  with 
a  steep  slate  roof  and  iron  grilling,  faced  a  rival 
saloon  and  various  emporia  of  merchandise.  An 
additional  basin  had  been  cut  in  the  bank  for  the 
loading  of  Alexander  Hillings'  iron  on  to  the  canal 
boats. 

He  had  driven  to  the  canal — it  was  early  sum 
mer — to  see  about  a  congestion  of  movement;  and, 
hot,  he  stopped  in  the  hotel  for  a  pint  of  wine  in 
a  high  glass  with  cracked  ice.  The  lower  floor 
was  cut  in  half  by  a  hall  and  stairs;  on  the  right 
the  bar  opened  on  the  narrow  porch,  while  at  the 
left  a  ladies'  entrance  gave  way  to  the  inevitable 
dark,  already  musty  parlor.  The  bar  was  crowded, 
and,  intolerant  of  the  least  curtailment  of  his  dig 
nity  or  comfort,  he  secured  his  glass  and  moved 
across  the  hall  to  the  stillness  of  the  parlor. 

A  woman  was  standing,  blurred  in  outline,  at 
one  of  the  narrow  windows.  She  turned  as  he 
entered;  he  bowed,  prepared  to  withdraw,  when  he 
saw  that  it  was  Gisela  Wooddrop.  She  wore  white 

[96] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

muslin,  sprigged  in  orange  chenille,  with  green 
ribbons,  and  carried  a  green  parasol.  Alexander 
stood  motionless  in  the  doorway,  his  champagne  in 
one  hand  and  a  glossy  stovepipe  hat  in  the  other. 
He  was  aware  of  a  slight  inward  confusion,  but 
outwardly  he  was  unmoved,  exact.  Gisela,  too, 
maintained  the  turn  of  her  flexible  body,  her  hands 
on  the  top  of  the  parasol.  Under  her  bonnet  her 
face  was  pale,  her  eyes  noticeably  bright.  Alex 
ander  Hulings  said: 

"Good  afternoon!" 

He  moved  into  the  room.  Gisela  said  nothing; 
she  was  like  a  graceful  painted  figure  on  a  shadowy 
background.  A  complete  ease  possessed  Alex 
ander. 

"Miss  Wooddrop,"  he  continued,  in  the  vein 
of  a  simple  statement.  She  nodded  automatically. 
"This  is  a  happy  meeting — for  me.  I  can  now 
express  my  gratitude  for  your  concern  about  a  cer 
tain  unfortunate  occurrence  at  the  Mineral  Springs. 
At  the  same  time,  I  regret  that  you  were  caused  the 
slightest  uneasiness." 

She  shuddered  delicately. 

"Nothing  more  need  be  said  about  that,"  she 
told  him.  "I  explained  to  my  father;  but  I  was 
sorry  afterward  that  I  did  it,  and — and  put  him  to 
fresh  humiliation." 

"There,"  he  gravely  replied,  "little  enough  can 
be  discussed.  It  has  to  do  with  things  that  you 

[97] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

would  have  limited  patience  with,  strictly  an  affair 
of  business.  I  was  referring  to  your  susceptibility 
of  heart,  a  charming  female  quality." 

He  bowed  stiffly.  Gisela  came  nearer  to  him, 
a  sudden  emotion  trembling  on  her  features. 

"Why  don't  you  end  it?"  she  cried,  low  and  dis 
tressed.  "It  has  gone  on  a  long  while  now — the 
bitterness  between  you;  I  am  certain  in  his  heart 

father  is  weary  of  it,  and  you  are  younger " 

She  broke  off  before  the  tightening  of  his  lips. 

"Not  a  topic  to  be  developed  here,"  he  insisted. 

He  had  no  intention,  Alexander  Hulings  thought, 
of  being  bent  about  even  so  charming  a  finger. 
And  it  was  well  to  establish  at  once  the  manner  in 
which  any  future  they  might  share  should  be  con 
ducted.  He  wanted  a  wife,  not  an  intrigante  nor 
Amazon.  Her  feeling,  color,  rapidly  evaporated, 
and  left  her  pallid,  confused,  before  his  calm  de 
meanor.  She  turned  her  head  away,  her  face  lost 
in  the  bonnet,  but  slowly  her  gaze  returned  to  meet 
his  keen  inquiry.  His  impulse  was  to  ask  her, 
then,  at  once,  to  marry  him;  but  he  restrained  that 
headlong  course,  feeling  that  it  would  startle  her 
into  flight.  As  it  was,  she  moved  slowly  toward 
the  door. 

"I  am  to  meet  a  friend  on  the  Western  packet," 
she  explained;  "I  thought  I  heard  the  horn." 

"It  was  only  freight,"  he  replied.  "I  should 
be  sorry  to  lose  this  short  opportunity  to  pay  you 
my  respects;  to  tell  you  that  you  have  been  a  lot 

[98] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

in  my  thoughts  lately.  I  envy  the  men  who  see 
you  casually,  whenever  they  choose." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  palpable  surprise  gather 
ing  in  her  widely  opened  eyes.  "But,"  she  said 
breathlessly,  "everybody  knows  that  you  never  ad 
dress  a  polite  syllable  to  a  woman.  It  is  more 
speculated  on  than  any  of  your  other  traits." 

He  expanded  at  this  indication  of  a  widespread 
discussion  of  his  qualities. 

"I  have  had  no  time  for  merely  polite  speeches," 
he  responded.  "And  I  assure  you  that  I  am  not 
only  complimentary  now;  I  mean  that  I  am  not 
saluting  you  with  vapid  elegance.  I  am  awaiting 
only  a  more  fitting  occasion  to  speak  further." 

She  circled  him  slowly,  with  a  minute  whispering 
of  crinoline,  her  gaze  never  leaving  his  face.  Her 
muslin,  below  her  white,  bare  throat,  circled  by  a 
black  velvet  band,  was  heaving.  The  parasol  fell 
with  a  clatter.  He  stooped  immediately;  but  she 
was  before  him  and  snatched  it  up,  with  crimson 
cheeks. 

"They  say  that  you  are  the  most  hateful  man 
alive! "  she  half  breathed. 

"Who  are  'they'?"  he  demanded  contemptuously. 
"Men  I  have  beaten  and  women  I  failed  to  see. 
That  hatred  grows  with  success,  with  power;  it  is 
never  wasted  on  the  weak.  My  competitors  would 
like  to  see  me  fall  into  a  furnace  stack — the  men 
I  have  climbed  over,  and  my  debtors.  They  are 
combining  every  month  to  push  me  to  the  wall,  a 

[99] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

dozen  of  them  together,  yelping  like  a  pack  of  dogs. 
But  they  haven't  succeeded;  they  never  will!" 
His  words  were  like  the  chips  from  an  iron  bloom. 
"They  never  will,"  he  repeated  harshly,  "and  I  have 
only  begun.  I  want  you  to  see  my  house  sometime. 
I  planned  a  great  part  of  it  with  you  in  mind.  No 
money  was  spared.  ...  I  should  be  happy  to 
have  you  like  it.  I  think  of  it  as  yours." 

All  the  time  he  was  speaking  she  was  stealing  by 
imperceptible  degrees  toward  the  door;  but  at  his 
last,  surprising  sentence  she  stood  transfixed  with 
mingled  wonder  and  fear.  She  felt  behind  her  for 
the  open  doorway  and  rested  one  hand  against  the 
woodwork.  A  ribald  clatter  sounded  from  the  bar, 
and  without  rose  the  faint,  clear  note  of  an  ap 
proaching  packet.  Her  lips  formed  for  speech,  but 
only  a  slight  gasp  was  audible;  then  her  spreading 
skirts  billowed  through  the  opening,  and  she  was 
gone. 

Alexander  Hulings  found  that  he  was  still  hold 
ing  his  silk  hat;  he  placed  it  carefully  on  the  table 
and  took  a  deep  drink  from  the  iced  glass.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  greater  feeling  of  triumph  than 
he  had  ever  known  before.  He  realized  that  he 
had  hardly  needed  to  add  the  spoken  word  to  the 
impression  his  being  had  made  on  Gisela  Wood- 
drop.  He  had  already  invaded  her  imagination; 
the  legend  of  his  struggle  and  growth  had  taken 
possession  of  her.  There  remained  now  only  a 

[100] 


TUBAL    CAItt 

formal  declaration,  the  outcome  of  which  "he  felt 
almost  certain  would  be  in  his  favor. 

Again  in  his  house,  he  inspected  the  silk  hang 
ings  of  the  particularly  feminine  chambers.  He 
trod  the  thick  carpets  with  a  keen  anticipation  of 
her  exclamations  of  pleasure,  her  surprise  at  con 
venient  trifle  after  trifle.  In  the  stable  he  surveyed 
a  blooded  mare  she  might  take  a  fancy  to;  he  must 
buy  a  light  carriage,  with  a  fringed  canopy — yes, 
and  put  a  driver  into  livery.  Women  liked  such 
things. 

At  dinner  he  speculated  on  the  feminine  palate; 
he  liked  lean  mountain  venison,  and  a  sherry  that 
left  almost  a  sensation  of  dust  on  the  tongue;  but 
women  preferred  sparkling  hock  and  pastry,  fruit 
preserved  in  white  brandy,  and  pagodas  of  barley 
sugar. 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  subdued 
clatter  of  his  forges;  the  hooded  candles  on  the 
table  flickered  slightly  in  a  warm  eddy,  while  cor 
responding  shadows  stirred  on  the  heavy  napery, 
the  Sheffield,  and  delicate  creamy  Belleek  of  his 
dinner  service — the  emblem  of  his  certitude  and 
pride. 


[101] 


XI 


IN  October  Alexander  Hulings  took  Gisela 
Wooddrop  to  the  home  that  had  been  so 
largely  planned  for  her  enjoyment.  They 
had  been  married  in  a  private  parlor  of  the  United 
States  Hotel,  in  Philadelphia;  and  after  a  small 
supper  had  gone  to  the  Opera  House  to  see  "Love 
in  a  Village,"  followed  by  a  musical  pasticcio. 
Gisela's  mother  had  died  the  winter  before,  and 
she  was  attended  by  an  elderly  distant  cousin;  no 
one  else  was  present  at  the  wedding  ceremony  ex 
cept  a  friend  of  Gisela's — a  girl  who  wept  copiously 
— and  Doctor  Veneada.  The  latter's  skin  hung  in 
loose  folds,  like  a  sack  partially  emptied  of  its 
contents;  his  customary  spirit  had  evaporated  too; 
and  he  sat  through  the  wedding  supper  neither  eat 
ing  nor  speaking,  save  for  the  forced  proposal  of 
the  bride's  health. 

Gisela  Wooddrop  and  Alexander  Hulings,  meet 
ing  on  a  number  of  carefully  planned,  apparently 
accidental  occasions,  had  decided  to  be  married 
while  John  Wooddrop  was  confined  to  his  room  by 
severe  gout.  In  this  manner  they  avoided  the  un 
pleasant  certainty  of  his  refusal  to  attend  his 
daughter's,  and  only  child's,  wedding.  Gisela  had 
not  told  Alexander  Hulings  what  the  aging  Iron- 

[102] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

master  had  said  when  necessarily  informed  of  her 
purpose.  No  message  had  come  to  Alexander  from 
John  Wooddrop;  since  the  ceremony  the  Hulingses 
had  had  no  sign  of  the  other's  existence. 

Alexander  surveyed  his  wife  with  huge  satisfac 
tion  as  they  sat  for  the  first  time  at  supper  in  their 
house.  She  wore  white,  with  the  diamonds  he  had 
given  her  about  her  firm  young  throat,  black-enamel 
bracelets  on  her  wrists,  and  her  hair  in  a  gilt  net. 
She  sighed  with  deep  pleasure. 

"It's  wonderful!"  she  proclaimed,  and  then  cor 
roborated  all  he  had  surmised  about  the  growth  of 
her  interest  in  him;  it  had  reached  forward  and 
back  from  the  killing  of  Partridge  Sinnox.  "That 
was  the  first  time,"  she  told  him,  "that  I  realized 
you  were  so — so  big.  You  looked  so  miserable  on 
the  canal  boat,  coming  out  here  those  years  ago, 
that  it  hardly  seemed  possible  for  you  merely  to 
live;  and  when  you  started  the  hearths  at  Tubal 
Cain  everyone  who  knew  anything  about  iron  just 
laughed  at  you — we  used  to  go  down  sometimes  and 
look  at  those  killing  workmen  you  had,  and  that 
single  mule  and  old  horse. 

"I  wasn't  interested  then,  and  I  don't  know 
when  it  happened;  but  now  I  can  see  that  a  time 
soon  came  when  men  stopped  laughing  at  you.  I 
can  just  remember  when  father  first  became  seri 
ously  annoyed,  when  he  declared  that  he  was  going 
to  force  you  out  of  the  valleys  at  once.  But  it 
seemed  you  didn't  go.  And  then  in  a  few  months 

[103] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

he  came  home  in  a  dreadful  temper,  when  he  found 
that  you  controlled  all  the  timber  on  the  mountains. 
He  said  of  course  you  would  break  before  he  was 
really  short  of  charcoal.  But  it  seems  you  haven't 
broken.  And  now  I'm  married  to  you;  I'm  Gisela 
Hulings!" 

"This  is  hardly  more  than  the  beginning,"  he 
added;  "the  foundation — just  as  iron  is  the  base  for 
so  much.  I — we — are  going  on,"  he  corrected  the 
period  lamely,  but  was  rewarded  by  a  charming 
smile.  "Power!"  he  said,  shutting  up  one  hand, 
his  straight,  fine  features  as  hard  as  the  cameo  in 
his  neckcloth. 

She  instantly  fired  at  his  tensity  of  will. 

"How  splendid  you  are,  Alexander!"  she  cried. 
"How  tremendously  satisfactory  for  a  woman  to 
share !  You  can  have  no  idea  what  it  means  to  be 
with  a  man  like  a  stone  wall ! 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  "that  you  would  always  tell 
me  about  your  work.  I'd  like  more  than  anything 
else  to  see  you  going  on,  step  by  step  up.  I  sup 
pose  it  is  extraordinary  in  a  woman.  I  felt  that 
way  about  father's  iron,  and  he  only  laughed  at 
me;  and  yet  once  I  kept  a  forge  daybook  almost  a 
week,  when  a  clerk  was  ill.  I  think  I  could  be  of 
real  assistance  to  you,  Alexander." 

He  regarded  with  the  profoundest  distaste  any 
mingling  of  his,  Alexander  Hulings',  wife  and  a 
commercial  industry.  He  had  married  in  order  to 
give  his  life  a  final  touch  of  elegance  and  proper 

[104] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

symmetry.  No,  no;  he  wanted  Gisela  to  receive 
him  at  the  door  of  his  mansion,  in  -fleckless  white, 
as  she  was  now,  and  jewels,  at  the  end  of  his  day 
in  the  clamor  and  soot  of  business  and  put  it  tem 
porarily  from  his  thoughts. 

He  was  distinctly  annoyed  that  her  father  had 
permitted  her  to  post  the  forge  book;  it  was  an 
exceedingly  unladylike  proceeding.  He  told  her 
something  of  this  in  carefully  chosen,  deliberate 
words;  and  she  listened  quietly,  but  with  a  faint 
air  of  disappointment. 

"I  want  you  to  buy  yourself  whatever  you  fancy," 
he  continued;  "nothing  is  too  good  for  you — for 
my  wife.  I  am  very  proud  of  you  and  insist  on 
your  making  the  best  appearance,  wherever  we  are. 
Next  year,  if  <the  political  weather  clears  at  all, 
we'll  go  to  Paris,  and  you  can  explore  the  mantua- 
makers  there.  You  got  the  shawls  in  your  dressing 
room?" 

She  hesitated,  cutting  uncertainly  with  a  heavy 
silver  knife  at  a  crystallized  citron. 

Then,  with  an  expression  of  determination,  she 
addressed  him  again: 

"But  don't  you  see  that  it  is  your  power,  your 
success  over  men,  that  fascinates  me;  that  first 
made  me  think  of  you?  In  a  way  this  is  not — 
not  an  ordinary  affair  of  ours ;  I  had  other  chances 
more  commonplace,  which  my  father  encouraged, 
but  they  seemed  so  stupid  that  I  couldn't  entertain 
them.  I  love  pretty  clothes,  Alexander;  I  adore 

[105] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

the  things  you've  given  me;  but  will  you  mind  my 
saying  that  that  isn't  what  I  married  you  for?  I 
am  sure  you  don't  care  for  such  details,  for  money 
itself,  in  the  least.  You  are  too  strong.  And  that 
is  why  I  did  marry  you,  why  I  love  to  think  about 
you,  and  what  I  want  to  follow,  to  admire  and 
understand." 

He  was  conscious  of  only  a  slight  irritation  at 
this  masculine-sounding  speech;  he  must  have  no 
hesitation  in  uprooting  such  ideas  from  his  wife's 
thoughts;  they  detracted  from  her  feminine  charm, 
struck  at  the  bottom  of  her  duties,  her  privileges 
and  place. 

"At  the  next  furnace  in  blast,"  he  told  her  with 
admirable  control,  "the  workmen  will  insist  on 
your  throwing  in,  as  my  bride,  a  slipper;  and  in 
that  way  you  can  help  the  charge." 

Then,  by  planning  an  immediate  trip  with  her 
to  West  Virginia,  he  abruptly  brought  the  discus 
sion  to  a  close. 

Alexander  was  pleased,  during  the  weeks  which 
followed,  at  the  fact  that  she  made  no  further 
reference  to  iron.  She  went  about  the  house, 
gravely  busy  with  its  maintenance,  as  direct  and 
efficient  as  he  was  in  the  larger  realm.  Almost  her 
first  act  was  to  discharge  the  housekeeper.  The 
woman  came  to  Alexander,  her  fat  face  smeared 
with  crying,  and  protested  bitterly  against  the  loss 
of  a  place  she  had  filled  since  the  house  was  roofed. 

He  was,  of  course,  curt  with  her,  and  ratified 
[106] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

Gisela's  decision;  but  privately  he  was  annoyed. 
He  had  not  even  intended  his  wife  to  discharge  the 
practical  duties  of  living — thinking  of  her  as  a 
suave  figure  languidly  moving  from  parlor  to 
dining  room  or  boudoir;  however,  meeting  her  in 
a  hall,  energetically  directing  the  dusting  of  a 
cornice,  in  a  rare  flash  of  perception  he  said 
nothing. 


[107] 


XII 


HE  would  not  admit,  even  to  himself,  that 
his  material  affairs  were  less  satisfactory 
than  they  had  been  the  year  before,  but 
such  he  vaguely  knew  was  a  fact.  Speculation  in 
Western  government  lands,  large  investments  in 
transportation  systems  for  the  present  fallow,  had 
brought  about  a  general  condition  of  commercial 
unrest.  Alexander  Hulings  felt  this,  not  only  by 
the  delayed  payment  for  shipments  of  metal,  but 
in  the  allied  interests  he  had  accumulated.  Mer 
chandise  was  often  preceded  by  demands  for  pay 
ment;  the  business  of  a  nail  manufactory  he  owned 
in  Wheeling  had  been  cut  in  half. 

He  could  detect  concern  in  the  shrewd  coun 
tenance  and  tones  of  Samuel  Cryble,  a  hard-headed 
Yankee  from  a  Scotch  Protestant  valley  in  New 
Hampshire,  who  had  risen  to  the  position  of  his 
chief  assistant  and,  in  a  small  way,  copartner. 
They  sat  together  in  the  dingy  office  on  the  public 
road  and  silently,  grimly,  went  over  invoices  and 
payments,  debts  and  debtors.  It  was  on  such  an 
occasion  that  Alexander  had  word  of  the  death  of 
Doctor  Veneada. 

Hulings'  involuntary  concern,  the  stirred  mem 
ories  of  the  dead  man's  liberal  spirit  and  mind — 

[108] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

he  had  been  the  only  person  Alexander  Hulings 
could  call  friend — speedily  gave  place  to  a  growing 
anxiety  as  to  how  Veneada  might  have  left  his 
affairs.  He  had  been  largely  a  careless  man  in 
practical  matters. 

Alexander  had  never  satisfied  the  mortgage  he 
had  granted  Veneada  on  the  timber  properties 
purchased  with  the  other  man's  money.  He  had 
tried  to  settle  the  indebtedness  when  it  had  first 
fallen  due,  but  the  doctor  had  begged  him  to  let 
the  money  remain  as  it  was. 

"I'll  only  throw  it  away  on  some  confounded 
soft-witted  scheme,  Alex,"  he  had  insisted.  "With 
you,  I  know  where  it  is;  it's  a  good  investment." 

Now  Hulings  recalled  that  the  second  extension 
had  expired  only  a  few  weeks  before  Veneada's 
death,  incurring  an  obligation  the  settlement  of 
which  he  had  been  impatiently  deferring  until  he 
saw  the  other. 

He  had  had  a  feeling  that  Veneada,  with  no 
near  or  highly  regarded  relatives,  would  will  him 
the  timber  about  the  valleys;  yet  he  was  anxious 
to  have  the  thing  settled.  The  Alexander  Hulings 
Company  was  short  of  available  funds.  He  re 
turned  to  Eastlake  for  Veneada's  funeral;  and 
there,  for  the  first  time,  he  saw  the  cousins  to  whom 
the  doctor  had  occasionally  and  lightly  alluded. 
They  were,  he  decided,  a  lean  and  rapacious  crew. 

He  remained  in  Eastlake  for  another  twenty-four 
hours,  but  was  forced  to  leave  with  nothing  dis- 

[109] 


TUBAL   CAIN 

covered;  and  it  was  not  until  a  week  later  that, 
again  in  his  office,  he  learned  that  Veneada  had 
made  no  will.  This,  it  seemed,  had  been  shown 
beyond  any  doubt.  He  rose,  walked  to  a  dusty 
window,  and  gazed  out  unseeingly  at  an  eddy  of 
dead  leaves  and  dry  metallic  snow  in  a  bleak 
November  wind. 

After  a  vague,  disconcerted  moment  he  shrewdly 
divined  exactly  what  would  occur.  He  said 
nothing  to  Cryble,  seated  with  his  back  toward  him; 
and  even  Gisela  looked  with  silent  inquiry  at  his 
absorption  throughout  supper.  She  never  ques 
tioned  him  now  about  any  abstraction  that  might  be 
concerned  with  affairs  outside  their  pleasant  life 
together. 

The  inevitable  letter  at  last  arrived,  announcing 
the  fact  that,  in  a  partition  settlement  of  Veneada's 
estate  by  his  heirs,  it  was  necessary  to  settle  the 
expired  mortgage.  It  could  not  have  come,  he 
realized,  at  a  more  inconvenient  time. 

He  was  forced  to  discuss  the  position  with 
Cryble;  and  the  latter  heard  him  to  the  end  with 
a  narrowed,  searching  vision. 

"That  money  out  of  the  business  now  might 
leave  us  on  the  bank,"  he  asserted.  "As  I  see  it, 
there's  but  one  thing  to  do — go  over  all  the  timber, 
judge  what  we  actually  will  need  for  coaling,  buy 
that — or,  if  we  must,  put  another  mortgage  on  it — 
and  let  the  rest,  a  good  two-thirds,  go." 

This,  Alexander  acknowledged  to  himself,  was 
[110] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

the  logical  if  not  the  only  course.  And  then  John 
Wooddrop  would  purchase  the  remainder ;  he  would 
have  enough  charcoal  to  keep  up  his  local  in 
dustries  beyond  his  own  life  and  another.  All 
his — Alexander's — planning,  aspirations,  sacrifice, 
would  have  been  for  nothing.  He  would  never, 
like  John  Wooddrop,  be  a  great  industrial  despot, 
or  command,  as  he  had  so  often  pictured,  the  iron 
situation  of  the  state.  To  do  that,  he  would  have 
to  control  all  the  iron  the  fumes  of  whose  manu 
facture  stained  the  sky  for  miles  about  Harmony. 
If  Wooddrop  recovered  an  adequate  fuel  supply 
Alexander  Hulings  would  never  occupy  a  position 
of  more  than  secondary  importance. 

There  was  a  bare  possibility  of  his  retaining  all 
the  tracts  again  by  a  second  mortgage;  but  as  he 
examined  that,  it  sank  from  a  potentiality  to  a 
thing  without  substance.  It  would  invite  an  in 
vestigation,  a  public  gleaning  of  facts,  that  he  must 
now  avoid.  His  pride  could  not  contemplate  the 
publication  of  the  undeniable  truth — that  what  he 
had  so  laboriously  built  up  stood  on  an  insecure 
foundation. 

"It  is  necessary,"  he  said  stiffly,  "in  order  to 
realize  on  my  calculations,  that  I  continue  to  hold 
all  the  timber  at  present  in  my  name." 

"And  that's  where  you  make  a  misjudgment," 
Cryble  declared,  with  an  equal  bluntness.  "I  can 
see  clear  enough  that  you  are  letting  your  personal 
feeling  affect  your  business  sense.  There  is  room 

tin] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

enough  in  Pennsylvania  for  both  you  and  old  Wood- 
drop.  Anyhow,  there's  got  to  be  somebody  second 
in  the  parade,  and  that  is  a  whole  lot  better  than 
tail  end." 

Alexander  Hulings  nodded  absently;  Cryble's 
philosophy  was  correct  for  a  clerk,  an  assistant, 
but  Alexander  Hulings  felt  the  tyranny  of  a  wider 
necessity.  He  wondered  where  he  could  get  the 
money  to  satisfy  the  claim  of  the  doctor's  heirs. 
His  manufacturing  interests  in  West  Virginia,  de 
preciated  as  they  were  at  present,  would  about 
cover  the  debt.  Ordinarily  they  were  worth  a  third 
more ;  and  in  ten  years  they  would  double  in  value. 
He  relentlessly  crushed  all  regret  at  parting  with 
what  was  now  his  best  property  and  promptly  made 
arrangements  to  secure  permanently  the  timberland. 

Soon,  he  felt,  John  Wooddrop  must  feel  the 
pinch  of  fuel  shortage;  and  Alexander  awaited 
such  development  with  keen  attention.  As  he  had 
anticipated,  when  driving  from  the  canal,  he  saw 
that  the  Blue  Lump  Furnace  had  gone  out  of  blast, 
its  workmen  dispersed.  Gisela,  the  day  before, 
had  been  to  see  her  father;  and  he  was  curious 
to  hear  what  she  might  report.  A  feeling  of 
coming  triumph,  of  inevitable  worldly  expansion, 
settled  comfortably  over  him,  and  he  regarded  his 
wife  pleasantly  through  a  curtain  of  cigar  smoke. 

They  were  seated  in  a  parlor,  already  shadowy 
with  an  early  February  dusk;  coals  were  burning 

[112] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

brightly  in  a  polished  open  stove,  by  which  Gisela 
was  embroidering  in  brightly  colored  wool  on  a 
frame.  She  had  the  intent,  placid  expression  of 
a  woman  absorbed  in  a  small,  familiar  duty.  As 
he  watched  her  Alexander  Hillings'  satisfaction 
deepened — young  and  fine  and  vigorous,  she  was 
preeminently  a  wife  for  his  importance  and  posi 
tion.  She  gazed  at  him  vacantly,  her  eyes  crinkled 
at  the  corners,  her  lips  soundlessly  counting 
stitches,  and  a  faint  smile  rose  to  his  lips. 

He  was  anxious  to  hear  what  she  might  say 
about  John  Wooddrop,  and  yet  a  feeling  of  pro 
priety  restrained  him  from  a  direct  question.  He 
had  not  had  a  line,  a  word  or  message,  from  Wood- 
drop  since  he  had  married  the  other's  daughter. 
The  aging  man,  he  knew,  idolized  Gisela;  and  her 
desertion — for  so  John  Wooddrop  would  hold  it — 
must  have  torn  the  Ironmaster.  She  had,  how 
ever,  been  justified  in  her  choice,  he  contentedly 
continued  nis  train  of  thought.  Gisela  had  every 
thing  a  woman  could  wish  for.  He  had  been  a 
thoughtful  husband.  Her  clothes,  of  the  most 
beautiful  texture  and  design,  were  pinned  with 
jewels;  her  deftly  moving  fingers  flashed  with 
rings;  the  symbol  of  his  success,  his 

"My  father  looks  badly,  Alexander,"  she  said 
suddenly.  "I  wish  you  would  see  him,  and  that 
he  would  talk  to  you.  But  you  won't  and  he  won't. 
He  is  very  nearly  as  stubborn  as  yourself.  I  wish 

[113] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

you  could  make  a  move;  after  all,  you  are  younger. 
.  .  .  But  then,  you  would  make  each  other  furious 
in  a  second."  She  sighed  deeply. 

"Has  he  shown  any  desire  to  see  me?" 

"No,"  she  admitted.  "You  must  know  he 
thinks  you  married  me  only  to  get  his  furnaces; 
he  is  ridiculous  about  it — just  as  if  you  needed 
any  more!  He  has  been  fuming  and  planning  a 
hundred  things  since  his  charcoal  has  been  getting 
low." 

She  stopped  and  scrutinized  her  embroidery,  a 
naive  pattern  of  rose  and  urn  and  motto.  He  drew 
a  long  breath;  that  was  the  first  tangible  indication 
he  had  had  of  the  working  out  of  his  planning,  the 
justification  of  his  sacrifice. 

"I  admire  father,"  she  went  on  once  more,  con 
versationally;  "my  love  for  you  hasn't  blinded  me 
to  his  qualities.  He  has  a  surprising  courage  and 

vigor  for  an Why,  he  must  be  nearly  seventy! 

And  now  he  has  the  most  extraordinary  plan  for 
what  he  calls  'getting  the  better  of  you.'  He  was 
as  nice  with  me  as  possible,  but  I  could  see  that 
he  thinks  you're  lost  this  time.  .  .  .  No,  the  darker 
green.  Alexander,  don't  you  think  the  words 
would  be  sweet  in  magenta?" 

"Well,"  he  demanded  harshly,  leaning  forward, 
"what  is  this  plan?" 

She  looked  up,  surprised  at  his  hard  impatience. 

"How  queer  you  are!  And  that's  your  iron 
expression;  you  know  it's  expressly  forbidden  in 

[114] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

the  house,  after  hours.  His  plan?  I'm  certain 
there's  no  disloyalty  in  telling  you.  Isn't  it  mad, 
at  his  age?  And  it  will  cost  him  an  outrageous 
amount  of  money.  He  is  going  to  change  the  en 
tire  system  of  all  his  forges  and  furnaces.  It 
seems  stone  coal  has  been  found  on  his  slopes;  and 
he  is  going  to  blow  in  with  that,  and  use  a  hot 
blast  in  his  smelting." 

Alexander  Hulings  sat  rigid,  motionless;  the 
cigar  in  his  hand  cast  up  an  unbroken  blue  ribbon 
of  smoke.  Twice  he  started  to  speak,  to  exclaim 
incredulously;  but  he  uttered  no  sound.  It  seemed 
that  all  his  planning  had  been  utterly  overthrown, 
ruined;  in  a  manner  which  he — anyone — could 
not  have  foreseen.  The  blowing  in  of  furnaces 
with  hard  coal  had  developed  since  his  entrance 
into  the  iron  field.  It  had  not  been  generally  de 
clared  successful;  the  pig  produced  had  been  so 
impure  that,  with  working  in  an  ordinary  or  even 
puddling  forge,  it  had  often  to  be  subjected  to  a 
third,  finery  fire.  But  he  had  been  conscious  of  a 
slow  improvement  in  the  newer  working;  he  had 
vaguely  acknowledged  that  sometime  anthracite 
would  displace  charcoal  for  manufacturing  pur 
poses;  in  future  years  he  might  adopt  it  himself. 

But  John  Wooddrop  had  done  it  before  him;  all 
the  square  miles  of  timber  that  he  had  acquired 
with  such  difficulty,  that  he  had  retained  at  the 
sacrifice  of  his  best  property,  would  be  worthless. 
The  greater  part  of  it  could  not  be  teamed  across 

[115] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

Wooddrop's  private  roads  or  hauled  advantage 
ously  over  a  hundred  intervening  streams  and 
miles.  It  was  all  wasted,  lapsed — his  money  and 
dreams ! 

"It  will  take  over  a  year,"  she  went  on.  "I 
don't  understand  it  at  all;  but  it  seems  that  sending 
a  hot  blast  into  a  furnace,  instead  of  the  cold,  keeps 
the  metal  at  a  more  even  temperature.  Father's 
so  interested  you'd  think  he  was  just  starting  out  in 
life — though,  really,  he  is  an  old  man."  She 
laughed.  "Competition  has  been  good  for  him." 

All  thrown  away;  in  vain!  Alexander  Hulings 
wondered  what  acidulous  comment  Cryble  would 
make.  There  were  no  coal  deposits  on  his  land, 
its  nature  forbade  that;  besides,  he  had  no  money 
to  change  the  principal  of  his  drafts.  He  gazed 
about  at  the  luxury  that  surrounded  Gisela  and 
himself;  there  was  no  lien  on  the  house,  but  there 
still  remained  some  thousands  of  dollars  to  pay  on 
the  carpets  and  fixtures.  His  credit,  at  least,  was 
unimpeachable;  decorators,  tradespeople  of  all 
sorts,  had  been  glad  to  have  him  in  their  debt. 
But  if  any  whisper  of  financial  stringency  escaped, 
a  horde  would  be  howling  about  his  gate,  demand 
ing  the  settlement  of  their  picayune  accounts. 

The  twilight  had  deepened;  the  fire  made  a 
ruddy  area  in  the  gloom,  into  the  heart  of  which  he 
flung  his  cigar.  His  wife  embroidered  serenely. 
As  he  watched  her,  noting  her  firm,  well-modeled 
features,  realizing  her  utter  unconsciousness  of  all 

[116] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

that  he  essentially  at  that  moment  was,  he  felt  a 
strange  sensation  of  loneliness,  of  isolation. 

Alexander  Hulings  had  a  sudden  impulse  to  take 
her  into  his  confidence;  to  explain  everything  to 
her — the  disaster  that  had  overtaken  his  project 
of  ultimate  power,  the  loss  of  the  West  Virginia 
interest,  the  tightness  of  money.  He  had  a  feeling 
that  she  would  not  be  a  negligible  adviser — he  had 
been  a  witness  of  her  efficient  management  of  his 
house — and  he  felt  a  craving  for  the  sympathy  she 
would  instantly  extend. 

Alexander  parted  his  lips  to  inform  her  of  all 
that  had  occurred;  but  the  habit  of  years,  the  in 
nate  fiber  of  his  being,  prevented.  A  wife,  he 
reminded  himself,  a  woman,  had  no  part  in  the 
bitter  struggle  for  existence;  it  was  not  becoming 
for  her  to  mingle  with  the  affairs  of  men.  She 
should  be  purely  a  creature  of  elegance,  of  solace, 
and,  dressed  in  India  muslin  or  vaporous  silk, 
ornament  a  divan,  sing  French  or  Italian  songs  at 
a  piano.  The  other  was  manifestly  improper. 

This,  illogically,  made  him  irritable  with  Gisela ; 
she  appeared,  contentedly  sewing,  a  peculiarly  use 
less  appendage  in  his  present  stress  of  mind.  He 
was  glum  again  at  supper,  and  afterward  retired 
into  an  office  he  had  had  arranged  on  the  ground 
floor  of  the  mansion.  There  he  got  out  a  number 
of  papers,  accounts  and  pass  books;  but  he  spent 
little  actual  time  on  them.  He  sat  back  in  his 
chair,  with  his  head  sunk  low,  and  mind  thronged 

[117] 


TUBAL   CAIN 

with  memories  of  the  past,  of  his  long,  uphill 
struggle  against  oblivion  and  ill  health. 

Veneada  was  gone;  yes,  and  Conrad  Wishon  too 
— the  supporters  and  confidants  of  his  beginning. 
He  himself  was  fifty  years  old.  At  that  age  a  man 
should  be  firmly  established,  successful,  and  not 
deviled  by  a  thousand  unexpected  mishaps.  By 
fifty  a  man's  mind  should  be  reasonably  at  rest, 
his  accomplishment  and  future  secure;  yet  there 
was  nothing  of  security,  but  only  combat,  before 
him. 

Wooddrop  had  been  a  rich  man  from  the  start, 
when  he,  Alexander  Hulings,  at  the  humiliating 
failure  of  the  law,  had  had  to  face  life  with  a  few 
paltry  hundreds.  No  wonder  he  had  been  obliged 
to  contract  debts,  to  enter  into  impossibly  onerous 
agreements!  Nothing  but  struggle  ahead,  a  re 
lentless  continuation  of  the  past  years;  and  he  had 
reached,  passed,  his  prime! 

There,  for  a  day,  he  had  thought  himself  safe, 
moving  smoothly  toward  the  highest  pinnacles; 
when,  without  warning,  at  a  few  words  casually 
pronounced  over  an  embroidery  frame,  the  entire 
fabric  of  his  existence  had  been  rent!  It  was  not 
alone  the  fact  of  John  Wooddrop's  progressive 
spirit  that  he  faced,  but  now  a  rapidly  accumulat 
ing  mass  of  difficulties.  He  was  dully  amazed  at 
the  treacherous  shifting  of  life,  at  the  unheralded 
change  of  apparently  solid  ground  for  quicksand. 

[118] 


XIII 

FTT1HOUGH  the  industries  centered  in  Tubal 
I  Cain  were  operated  and  apparently  owned 
M  by  the  Alexander  Hulings  Iron  Company, 
and  Hulings  was  publicly  regarded  as  their  pro 
prietor,  in  reality  his  hold  on  them  was  hardly 
more  than  nominal.  At  the  erection  of  the  fur 
naces  and  supplementary  forges  he  had  been 
obliged  to  grant  such  rebates  to  the  Columbus 
Transportation  interest  in  return  for  capital,  he 
had  contracted  to  supply  them  at  a  minimum  price 
such  a  large  proportion  of  his  possible  output,  that, 
with  continuous  shifts,  he  was  barely  able  to  dis 
pose  advantageously  of  a  sixth  of  the  year's  manu 
facture. 

He  had  made  such  agreements  confident  that  he 
should  ultimately  control  the  Wooddrop  furnaces; 
when,  doubling  his  resources,  he  would  soon  free 
himself  from  conditions  imposed  on  him  by  an 
early  lack  of  funds.  Now  it  was  at  least  problem 
atic  whether  he  would  ever  extend  his  power  to 
include  the  older  man's  domain.  His  marriage 
with  Gisela  had  only  further  separated  them, 
hardening  John  Wooddrop's  resolve  that  Hulings 
should  never  fire  a  hearth  of  his,  a  determination 

[119] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

strengthened  by  the  rebuilding  of  Wooddrop's 
furnaces  for  a  stone-coal  heat. 

The  widespread  land  speculation,  together  with 
the  variability  of  currency,  now  began  seriously  to 
depress  the  country,  and,  more  especially,  Alexan 
der  Hulings.  He  went  to  Philadelphia,  to  Wash 
ington,  for  conferences ;  but  returned  to  his  mansion 
and  Gisela  in  an  increasing  somberness  of  mood. 
All  the  expedients  suggested,  the  legalizing  of 
foreign  gold  and  silver,  the  gradual  elimination  of 
the  smaller  state-bank  notes,  an  extra  coinage,  one 
after  another  failed  in  their  purpose  of  stabiliza 
tion;  an  acute  panic  was  threatened. 

Alexander  was  almost  as  spare  of  political 
comments  to  his  wife  as  he  was  of  business  discus 
sion.  That,  too,  he  thought,  did  not  become  the 
female  poise.  At  times,  bitter  and  brief,  he  con 
demned  the  Administration;  during  dinner  he  all 
but  startled  a  servant  into  dropping  a  platter  by 
the  unexpected  violence  of  a  period  hurled  at  the 
successful  attempts  to  destroy  the  national  bank. 
And  when,  as — he  declared — a  result  of  that,  the 
state  institutions  refused  specie  payment,  and  a 
flood  of  rapidly  depreciating  paper  struck  at  the 
base  of  commerce,  Alexander  gloomily  informed 
Gisela  that  the  country  was  being  sold  for  a  barrel 
of  hard  cider. 

He  had,  with  difficulty,  a  while  before  secured 
what  had  appeared  to  be  an  advantageous  order 
from  Virginia;  and,  after  extraordinary  effort,  he 

[120] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

had  delivered  the  iron.  But  during  the  lapsing 
weeks,  when  the  state  banks  refused  to  circulate 
gold,  the  rate  of  exchange  for  paper  money  fell 
so  far  that  he  lost  all  his  calculated  profit,  and  a 
quarter  of  the  labor  as  well.  The  money  of  other 
states  depreciated  in  Pennsylvania  a  third.  In 
addition  to  these  things  Alexander  commenced  to 
have  trouble  with  his  workmen — wages,  too,  had 
diminished,  but  their  hours  increased.  Hulings, 
like  other  commercial  operators,  issued  printed 
money  of  his  own,  good  at  the  company  store,  use 
ful  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Tubal  Cain,  but 
valueless  at  any  distance.  Cryble,  as  he  had  an 
ticipated,  recounted  the  triumph  of  John  Wood- 
drop. 

"The  old  man  can't  be  beat!"  he  asserted. 
" We've  got  a  nice  little  business  here.  Tailed  on 
to  Wooddrop's,  we  should  do  good;  but  you  are 
running  it  into  an  iron  wall.  You  ain't  content 
with  enough." 

Cryble  was  apparently  unconscious  of  the  dan 
gerous  glitter  that  had  come  into  Hulings'  gaze. 
Alexander  listened  quietly  until  the  other  had 
finished,  and  then  curtly  released  him  from  all 
connection, ,  any  obligation  to  himself.  James 
Cryble  was  undisturbed. 

"I  was  thinking  myself  about  a  move,"  he 
declared,  "This  concern  is  pointed  bull-headed 
on  to  destruction!  You're  a  sort  of  peacock,"  he 
further  told  Hulings;  "you  can't  do  much  besides 

[121] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

spread  and  admire  your  own  feathers.  But  you'll 
get  learned." 

Alexander  made  no  reply,  and  the  other  shortly 
after  disappeared  from  his  horizon.  Cryble,  he 
thought  contemptuously,  a  man  of  routine,  had  no 
more  salience  than  one  of  the  thousands  of  identi 
cal  iron  pigs  run  from  Glory  Furnace.  There 
commenced  now  a  period  of  toil  more  bitter,  more 
relentless,  than  his  first  experience  in  the  valleys; 
by  constant  effort  he  was  able  to  keep  just  ahead 
of  the  unprofitable  labor  for  the  Columbus  Rail 
road.  The  number  of  workmen  grew  constantly 
smaller,  vaguely  contaminated  by  the  unsettled 
period,  while  his  necessity  increased.  Again  and 
again  he  longed  to  strip  off  his  coat  and  superfluous 
linen  and  join  the  men  working  the  metal  in  the 
hearths;  he  would  have  felt  better  if  he  could  have 
had  actual  part  in  rolling  and  stamping  the  pig 
beds,  or  even  in  dumping  materials  into  the  furnace 
stack. 

In  the  fever  of  Alexander  Hulings'  impatience 
and  concern,  the  manufacture  of  his  iron  seemed 
to  require  months  between  the  crude  ore  and  the 
finished  bars  and  blooms.  He  detected  a  growing 
impotence  among  laborers,  and  told  them  of  it  with 
an  unsparing,  lashing  tongue.  A  general  hatred 
of  him  again  flashed  into  being;  but  it  was  still 
accompanied  by  a  respect  amounting  to  fear. 

He  was  approached,  at  a  climax  of  misfortune, 
by  representatives  of  the  railroad.  They  sat,  their 

[122] 


CAIN 

solid  faces  rimmed  in  whiskers,  and  smooth  fingers 
playing  with  portentous  seals,  in  his  office,  while 
one  of  their  number  expounded  their  presence. 

"It's  only  reasonable,  Hulings,"  he  stated 
suavely,  "that  one  man  can't  stand  up  against 
present  conditions.  Big  concerns  all  along  the 
coast  have  gone  to  wreck.  You  are  an  exceptional 
man,  one  we  would  be  glad  to  have  in  our  Com 
pany;  and  that,  briefly,  is  what  we  have  come  to 
persuade  you  to  do — to  merge  your  activities  here 
into  the  railroad;  to  get  on  the  locomotive  with  us. 

"Long  ago  you  were  shrewd  enough  to  see  that 
steam  transportation  was  the  coming  power;  and 
now — though  for  the  moment  we  seem  overex 
tended — your  judgment  has  been  approved.  It 
only  remains  for  you  to  ratify  your  perspicacity 
and  definitely  join  us.  We  can,  I  think,  offer  you 
something  in  full  keeping  with  your  ability — a 
vice  presidency  of  the  reorganized  company  and 
a  substantial  personal  interest." 

Alexander  attended  the  speaker  half  absently, 
though  he  realized  that  probably  he  had  arrived 
at  the  crisis  of  his  life,  his  career;  his  attention 
was  rapt  away  by  dreams,  memories.  He  saw 
himself  again,  saturated  with  sweat  and  grime, 
sitting  with  Conrad  Wishon  against  the  little  house 
where  they  slept,  and  planning  his  empire  of  iron; 
he  thought  again,  even  further  back,  of  the  slough 
of  anguish  from  which  he  had  won  free,  and  per 
sistently,  woven  through  the  entire  texture,  was  his 

[123] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

vision  of  iron  and  of  pride.  He  had  sworn  to 
himself  that  he  would  build  success  from  the  metal 
for  which  he  had  such  a  personal  affinity;  that  he 
would  be  known  as  the  great  Ironmaster  of 
Pennsylvania;  and  that  unsubstantial  ideal,  totter 
ing  now  on  the  edge  of  calamity,  was  still  more 
potent,  more  persuasive,  than  the  concrete  and 
definite  promises  of  safety,  prosperity,  the  implied 
threat,  of  the  established  power  before  him. 

He  had  an  objective  comprehension  of  the  peril 
of  his  position,  his  negligible  funds  and  decreasing 
credit,  the  men  with  accounts  clamoring  for  settle 
ment,  he  thought  absurdly  of  a  tessellated  floor  he 
had  lately  laid  .in  his  vestibule ;  the  mingled  aggres 
sion  and  uncertainty  on  every  hand;  but  his  sub 
jective  self  rose*  up  and  dominated  him.  Louder 
than  any  warnmg  was  the  cry,  the  necessity,  for 
the  vindication  of  the  triumphant  Alexander  Hu- 
lings,  perpetually  rising  higher.  To  surrender  his 
iron  now,  to  enter,  a  mere  individual,  however 
elevated,  into  a  corporation,  was  to  confess  himself 
defeated,  to  tear  down  all  the  radiant  images  from 
which  he  had  derived  his  reason  for  being. 

Hulings  thought  momentarily  of  Gisela;  he  had, 
it  might  be,  no  right  to  involve  her  blindly  in  a 
downfall  of  the  extent  that  now  confronted  him. 
However,  he  relentlessly  repressed  this  considera 
tion,  together  with  a  vague  idea  of  discussing  with 
her  their — his — position.  His  was  the  judgment, 
the  responsibility,  that  sustained  them;  she  was 

[124] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

only  an  ornament,  the  singer  of  little  airs  in  the 
evening;  the  decoration,  in  embroidery  and  gilt 
flowers,  of  his  table. 

He  thanked  the  speaker  adequately  and  firmly 
voiced  his  refusal  of  the  offer. 

"I  am  an  iron  man,"  he  stated  in  partial  ex 
planation;  "as  that  I  must  sink  or  swim." 

"Iron,"  another  commented  dryly,  "is  not  noted 
for  its  floating  properties." 

"I  am  disappointed,  Hulings,"  the  first  speaker 
acknowledged;  "yes,  and  surprised.  Of  course  we 
are  not  ignorant  of  the  condition  here;  and  you 
must  also  know  that  the  company  would  like  to 
control  your  furnaces.  We  have  offered  you  the 
palm,  and  you  must  be  willing  to*  meet  the  con 
sequences  of  your  refusal.  As  ^  said,  we'd  like 
to  have  you  too — energetic  and  capable;  for,  as  the 
Bible  reads,  'He  that  is  not  for  me ' ' 

When  they  had  gone,  driving  in  a  local  surrey 
back  to  the  canal,  Alexander  Hulings  secured  his 
hat  and,  dismissing  his  carriage,  walked  slowly 
down  to  Tubal  Cain  Forge.  An  increasing  roar 
and  uprush  of  sooty  smoke  and  sparks  marked  the 
activity  within;  the  water  poured  dripping  under 
the  water  wheel,  through  the  channel  he  had 
cleared,  those  long  years  back,  with  bleeding  hands ; 
strange  men  stood  at  the  shed  opening;  but  the 
stream  and  its  banks  were  exactly  as  he  had  first 
seen  them. 

His  life  seemed  to  have  swung  in  a  circle  from 
[125] 


TUBAL1   CAIN 

that  former  day  to  now — from  dilemma  to  dilemma. 
What,  after  all,  did  he  have,  except  an  increasing 
weariness  of  years,  that  he  had  lacked  then?  He 
thought,  with  a  grim  smile,  that  he  might  find  in 
his  safe  nine  hundred  dollars.  All  his  other  pos 
sessions  suddenly  took  on  an  unsubstantial  aspect; 
they  were  his;  they  existed;  yet  they  eluded  his 
realization,  brought  him  none  of  the  satisfaction  of 
an  object,  a  fact,  solidly  grasped. 

His  name,  as  he  had  planned,  had  grown  con 
siderable  in  men's  ears,  its  murmur  rose  like  an 
incense  to  his  pride;  yet,  underneath,  it  gave  him 
no  satisfaction.  It  gave  him  no  satisfaction  be 
cause  it  carried  no  conviction  of  security,  no  per 
sonal  corroboration  of  the  mere  sound. 

What,  he  now  saw,  he  had  struggled  to  establish 
was  a  good  opinion  in  his  own  eyes,  that  actually 
he  was  a  strong  man;  the  outer  response,  upon 
which  he  had  been  intent,  was  unimportant  com 
pared  with  the  other.  And  in  the  latter  he  had  not 
moved  forward  a  step ;  if  he  had  widened  his  sphere 
he  had  tacitly  accepted  heavier  responsibilities — 
undischarged.  A  flicker  hammered  on  a  resonant 
limb,  just  as  it  had  long  ago.  How  vast,  eternal, 
life  was!  Conrad  Wishon,  with  his  great  arched 
chest  and  knotted  arms,  had  gone  into  obliterat 
ing  earth. 

Death  was  preferable  to  ruin,  to  the  concerted 
gibes  of  little  men,  the  forgetfulness  of  big;  once, 
looking  at  his  greying  countenance  in  a  mirror,  he 

[126] 


TUBAL   CAIN 

had  realized  that  it  would  be  easier  for  him  to  die 
than  fail.  Then,  with  a  sudden  twisting  of  his 
thoughts,  his  mind  rested  on  Gisela,  his  wife.  He 
told  himself,  with  justifiable  pride,  that  she  had 
been  content  with  him;  Gisela  was  not  an  ordinary 
woman,  she  had  not  married  him  for  a  cheap  and 
material  reason,  and  whatever  admiration  she  had 
had  in  the  beginning  he  had  been  able  to  preserve. 
Alexander  Hulings  was  certain  of  that;  he  saw  it 
in  a  hundred  little  acts  of  her  daily  living.  She 
thought  he  was  a  big  man,  a  successful  man ;  he  had 
not  permitted  a  whisper  of  his  difficulties  to  fret  her 
serenity,  and,  by  heaven,  he  thought  with  a  sharp 
return  of  his  native  vigor,  she  never  should  hear 
of  them;  he  would  stifle  them  quietly,  alone,  one  by 
one. 

The  idea  of  death,  self-inflicted,  a  flaccid  sur 
render,  receded  before  the  flood  of  his  returning 
pride,  confidence.  Age,  he  felt,  had  not  impaired 
him;  if  his  importance  was  now  but  a  shell,  he 
would  fill  it  with  the  iron  of  actuality;  he  would 
place  himself  and  Gisela  for  ever  beyond  the 
threats  of  accident  and  circumstance. 


[127] 


XIV 

GISELA  had  been  to  Philadelphia,  and  she 
was  unusually  gay,  communicative;  she 
was  dressed  in  lavender-and-rose  net, 
with  black  velvet,  and  about  her  throat  she  wore  a 
sparkling  pendant  that  he  had  never  before  noticed. 

"I  hope  you'll  like  it,"  she  said,  fingering  the 
diamonds;  "the  shape  was  so  graceful  that  I 
couldn't  resist.  And  you  are  so  generous,  Alex 
ander!" 

He  was  always  glad,  he  told  her  briefly,  to  see 
her  in  new  and  fine  adornments.  He  repressed  an 
involuntary  grimace  at  the  thought  of  the  probable 
cost  of  the  ornament.  She  could  hardly  have 
chosen  a  worse  time  in  which  to  buy  jewels.  Not 
only  his  own  situation,  but  the  whole  time,  was 
one  for  retrenchment.  The  impulse  to  tell  her 
this  was  speedily  lost  in  his  pride  of  her  really 
splendid  appearance.  He  himself  had  commanded 
her  to  purchase  whatever  she  fancied;  he  had  ex 
plained  that  that — the  domain  of  beauty — was  ex 
clusively  hers;  and  it  was  impossible  to  complain 
at  her  first  considerable  essay. 

Here  his  feeling  was  rooted  in  the  deepest  part 
of  his  being — he  was,  after  all,  twenty-five  years 
older  than  Gisela;  and,  as  if  in  a  species  of  repara- 

[128] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

tion  for  the  discrepancy,  he  owed  her  all  the  luxury 
possible.  This  he  had  promised  her — and  himself; 
and  an  inability  to  provide  gowns  and  necklaces 
and  gewgaws  was  a  most  humiliating  confession 
of  failure,  a  failure  unendurable  to  him  on  every 
plane.  Alexander,  too,  had  told  her  finally  that 
she  had  no  place  in  his  affairs  of  business;  and 
after  that  he  could  not  very  well  burden  her  with 
the  details  of  a  stupid — and  momentary — need 
for  economy. 

"I  got  a  sweet  bouquet  holder,"  she  continued; 
"in  chased  gold,  with  garnets.  And  a  new  prayer 
book;  you  must  see  that — bound  in  carved  ivory, 
from  Paris."  He  listened  with  a  stolid  face  to 
her  recital,  vaguely  wondering  how  much  she  had 
spent;  how  long  the  jeweler  would  wait  for  settle 
ment.  "And  there  was  a  wonderful  Swiss  watch 
I  thought  of  for  you;  it  rang  the  hours  and " 

"That,"  he  said  hastily,  "I  don't  need.  I  have 
two  excellent  watches." 

"But  you  are  always  complaining!"  she  re 
turned,  mildly  surprised.  "I  didn't  get  it,  but 
told  the  man  to  put  it  aside.  I'll  write  if  you 
don't  want  it." 

"Do!" 

Suddenly  he  felt  weary,  a  twinge  of  sciatica 
shot  through  his  hip ;  he  must  keep  out  of  the  damp 
cast  houses,  with  their  expanses  of  wet  sand.  But 
actually  he  was  as  good  as  he  had  ever  been; 
better,  for  he  now  saw  clearly  what  he  must  ac- 

[129] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

complish,  satisfy.  The  present  national  crisis 
would  lift;  there  was  already  a  talk  of  the  resump 
tion  of  gold  payment  by  the  state  banks;  and  the 
collapse  of  a  firm  associated  with  him  in  a  rolling 
mill  had  thrown  its  control  into  his  hands.  Steam 
power  had  already  been  connected,  and  he  could 
supply  the  railroad  corporation  with  a  certain 
number  of  finished  rails  direct,  adding  slightly  to 
his  profit. 

The  smallest  gain  was  important,  a  scrap  of 
wood  to  keep  him  temporarily  afloat  on  disturbed 
waters;  he  saw  before  him,  close  by,  solid  land. 
But  meantime  more  than  one  metaphorical  wave 
swept  over  his  head,  leaving  him  shaken.  The 
Columbus  people  returned  a  shipment  of  iron, 
with  the  complaint  that  it  was  below  the  grade 
useful  for  their  purpose.  He  inspected  the  re 
jected  bars  with  his  head  forgeman,  and  they  were 
unable  to  discover  the  deficiency. 

"That's  good  puddled  iron,"  the  forgeman  as 
serted.  "I  saw  the  pig  myself,  and  it  could  have 
been  wrought  on  a  cold  anvil.  Do  they  expect 
blister  steel?" 

Alexander  Hulings  kept  to  himself  the  knowl 
edge  that  this  was  the  beginning  of  an  assault 
upon  his  integrity,  his  name  and  possessions.  At 
court  he  could  have  established  the  quality  of  his 
iron,  forced  the  railroad  to  accept  it  within  their 
contract.  But  he  had  no  money  to  expend  on 

[130] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

tedious  legal  processes;  and  they  knew  that  in  the 
city. 

"We  can  get  a  better  price  for  it  than  theirs," 
he  commented. 

The  difficulty  lay  in  supplying  a  stated  amount. 
The  forgeman  profanely  explained  something  of 
his  troubles  with  labor: 

"I  get  my  own  anvils  busy,  and  perhaps  the  fur 
naces  running  out  the  metal,  when  the  damn  char 
coal  burners  lay  down.  That's  the  hardest  crowd 
of  niggers  and  drunken  Dutch  that  ever  cut  wood ! 
It's  never  a  week  but  one  is  shot  or  has  his  throat 
cut;  and  some  of  the  coal  they  send  down  looks 
like  pine  ash." 

At  their  home  he  found  Gisela  with  the  draper 
ies  of  the  dining  room  in  a  silken  pile  on  the  car 
pet. 

"I'm  tired  of  this  room,"  she  announced;  "it's 
too — too  heavy.  Those  plum-colored  curtains 
almost  made  me  weep.  Now  what  do  you  think? 
A  white  marble  mantel  in  place  of  that  black,  and 
a  mirror  with  wreaths  of  colored  gilt.  An  apple 
green  carpet,  with  pink  satin  at  the  windows, 
draped  with  India  muslin,  and  gold  cords,  and 
Spanish  mahogany  furniture — that's  so  much 
lighter  than  this."  She  studied  the  interior  seri 
ously.  "Less  ormolu  and  more  crystal,"  Gisela 
decided. 

He  said  nothing;  he  had  given  her  the  house 
[1311 


TUBAL    CAIN 

— it  was  her  world,  to  do  with  as  she  pleased. 
The  decorating  of  the  dining  room  had  cost  over 
three  thousand  dollars.  "And  a  big  Chinese  cage, 
full  of  finches  and  rollers."  He  got  a  certain 
grim  entertainment  from  the  accumulating  details 
of  her  planning.  Certainly  it  would  be  impos 
sible  to  find  anywhere  a  wife  more  unconscious  of 
the  sordid  details  of  commerce.  Gisela  was  his 
ideal  of  elegance  and  propriety. 

Nevertheless,  he  felt  an  odd,  illogical  loneliness 
fastening  on  him  here,  where  he  had  thought  to 
be  most  completely  at  ease.  His  mind,  filled  with 
the  practical  difficulties  of  tomorrow,  rebelled 
against  the  restriction  placed  on  it;  he  wanted  to 
unburden  himself  of  his  troubles,  to  lighten  them 
with  discussion,  give  them  the  support  of  another's 
belief  in  his  ability,  his  destiny;  but,  with  Cryble 
gone,  and  his  wife  dedicated  to  purely  aesthetic 
considerations,  there  was  no  one  to  whom  he  dared 
confess  his  growing  predicament. 

Marriage,  he  even  thought,  was  something  of  a 
failure — burdensome.  Gisela,  in  the  exclusive 
role  of  a  finch  in  an  elaborate  cage,  annoyed  him 
now  by  her  continual  chirping  song.  He  thought 
disparagingly  of  all  women;  light  creatures  fash 
ioned  of  silks  and  perfume;  extravagant.  After 
supper  he  went  directly  into  his  office  room. 

There,  conversely,  he  was  irritated  with  the  ac 
counts  spread  perpetually  before  him,  the  an 
nouncements  of  fresh  failures,  depreciated  money 

[132] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

and  bonds.  He  tramped  back  and  forth  across  the 
limited  space,  longing  to  share  Gisela's  tranquil 
lity.  In  a  manner  he  had  been  unjust  to  her;  he 
had  seen,  noted,  other  women — his  own  was 
vastly  superior.  Particularly  she  was  truthful, 
there  was  no  subterfuge,  pretense,  about  her;  and 
she  had  courage,  but,  John  Wooddrop's  daughter, 
she  would  have.  Alexander  Hulings  thought  of 
the  old  man  with  reluctant  admiration;  he  was 
strong;  though  he,  Hulings,  was  stronger.  He 
would,  he  calculated  brutally,  last  longer;  and  in 
the  end  he  would,  must,  win. 


[133] 


XV 


YET  adverse  circumstances  closed  about 
him  like  the  stone  walls  of  a  cell.  The 
slightest  error  or  miscalculation  would 
bring  ruin  crashing  about  his  pretensions.  It  was 
now  principally  his  commanding  interest  in  the 
rolling  mill  that  kept  him  going;  his  forges  and 
furnaces,  short  of  workmen,  were  steadily  losing 
ground.  And,  though  summer  was  at  an  end, 
Gisela  chose  this  time  to  divert  the  labor  of  a  con 
siderable  shift  to  the  setting  of  new  masoned  flower 
beds.  He  watched  the  operation  somberly  from 
the  entrance  of  the  conservatory  attached,  like  a 
parti-colored  fantastic  glass  bubble,  to  his  house. 

"It  won't  take  them  over  four  or  five  days," 
Gisela  said  at  his  shoulder. 

He  positively  struggled  to  condemn  her  foolish 
waste,  but  not  a  word  escaped  the  barrier  of  his 
pride.  Once  started,  he  would  have  to  explain  the 
entire  precarious  situation  to  her — the  labor 
shortage,  the  dangerous  tension  of  his  credit,  the 
inimical  powers  anxious  to  absorb  his  industry, 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  potential  failure.  He 
wished,  at  any  sacrifice,  to  keep  the  last  from  his 
wife,  convinced  as  she  was  of  his  success. 

Surely  in  a  few  months  the  sky  would  clear  and 
[134] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

he  would  triumph — this  time  solidly,  beyond  all 
assault.  He  rehearsed  this  without  his  usual  con 
viction;  the  letters  from  the  Columbus  System 
were  growing  more  dictatorial;  he  had  received  a 
covertly  insolent  communication  from  an  insignifi 
cant  tool  works. 

The  Columbus  Railroad  had  written  that  they 
were  now  able  to  secure  a  rail,  satisfactory  for 
their  purpose  and  tests,  at  a  considerably  lower 
figure  than  he  demanded.  This  puzzled  him; 
knowing  intimately  the  whole  iron  situation,  he 
realized  that  it  was  impossible  for  any  firm  to 
make  a  legitimate  profit  at  a  smaller  price  than 
his.  When  he  learned  that  the  new  contracts  were 
being  met  by  John  Wooddrop  his  face  was  ugly 
— the  older  man,  at  a  sacrifice,  was  deliberately, 
coldly  hastening  his  downfall.  But  he  abandoned 
this  unpleasant  thought  when,  later,  in  a  circuitous 
manner,  he  learned  that  the  Wooddrop  Rolling 
Mills,  situated  ten  miles  south  of  the  valleys,  were 
running  on  a  new,  secret,  and  vastly  economical 
system. 

He  looked  up,  his  brow  scored,  from  his  desk. 
Conrad  Wishon's  son,  a  huge  bulk,  was  looking  out 
through  a  window,  completely  blocking  off  the 
light.  Alexander  Hulings  said: 

"I'd  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  know  something 
of  that  process ! " 

The  second  Wishon  turned  on  his  heel. 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded. 
[135] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

Alexander  told  him.     The  other  was  thoughtful. 

"I  wouldn't  have  a  chance  hereabouts,"  he  pro 
nounced;  "but  I'm  not  so  well  known  at  the  South 
Mills.  Perhaps " 

Hulings  repeated  moodily: 

"A  thousand  dollars!" 

He  was  skeptical  of  Wishon's  ability  to  learn 
anything  of  the  new  milling.  It  had  to  do  ob 
scurely  with  the  return  of  the  bars  through  the 
rollers  without  having  to  be  constantly  re-fed. 
Such  a  scheme  would  cut  forty  men  from  the  pay 
books. 

A  black  depression  settled  over  him,  as  tan 
gible  as  soot ;  he  felt  physically  weary,  sick.  Alex 
ander  fingered  an  accumulation  of  bills;  one,  he 
saw,  was  from  the  Philadelphia  jeweler — a  fresh 
extravagance  of  Gisela's.  But  glancing  hastily  at 
its  items,  he  was  puzzled — "Resetting  diamond 
necklace  in  pendant,  fifty-five  dollars."  It  was 
addressed  to  Gisela;  its  presence  here,  on  his  desk, 
was  an  error.  After  a  momentary,  fretful  con 
jecturing  he  dismissed  it  from  his  thoughts; 
women  were  beyond  comprehension. 

He  had  now,  from  the  sciatica,  a  permanent 
limp;  a  cane  had  ceased  to  be  merely  ornamental. 
A  hundred  small  details,  falling  wrongly,  rubbed 
on  the  raw  of  his  dejection.  The  feeling  of  lone 
liness  deepened  about  him.  As  the  sun  sank, 
throwing  up  over  the  world  a  last  dripping  bath 
of  red-gold  light,  he  returned  slowly  to  his  house. 

[136] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

Each  window,  facing  him,  flashed  in  a  broad  sheet 
of  blinding  radiance,  a  callous  illumination.  A 
peacock,  another  of  Gisela's  late  extravagances, 
spread  a  burnished  metallic  plumage,  with  a  grat 
ing  cry. 

But  the  hall  was  pleasantly  still,  dim.  He  stood 
for  a  long  minute,  resting,  drawing  deep  breaths 
of  quietude.  Every  light  was  lit  in  the  reception 
room,  where  he  found  his  wife,  seated,  in  burnt- 
orange  satin  and  bare  powdered  shoulders,  amid 
a  glitter  of  glass  prisms,  gilt  and  marble.  Her 
very  brilliance,  her  gay,  careless  smile,  added  to 
his  fatigue.  Suddenly  he  thought — I  am  an  old 
man  with  a  young  wife!  His  dejection  changed 
to  bitterness.  Gisela  said: 

"I  hope  you  like  my  dress;  it  came  from  Vienna, 
and  was  wickedly  expensive.  Really  I  ought  to 
wear  sapphires  with  it;  I  rather  think  I'll  get 
them.  Diamonds  look  like  glass  with  orange." 

Her  words  were  lost  in  a  confused  blurring  of 
his  mind.  He  swayed  slightly.  Suddenly  the 
whole  circumstance  of  his  living,  of  Gisela's  bab 
bling,  became  unendurable.  His  pride,  his  con 
ception  of  a  wife  set  in  luxury  above  the  facts  of 
existence,  a  mere  symbol  of  his  importance  and 
wealth,  crumbled,  stripping  him  of  all  pretense. 
He  raised  a  thin,  /darkly  veined  and  trembling 
hand. 

"Sapphires!"  he  cried  shrilly.  "Why,  next 
week  we'll  be  lucky  if  we  can  buy  bread!  I  am 

[137] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

practically  smashed — smashed  at  fifty  and  more. 
This  house  that  you  fix  up  and  fix  up,  that  dress 

and  the  diamonds  and  clocks,  and — and 

They  are  not  real;  in  no  time  they'll  go,  fade  away 
like  smoke,  leave  me,  us,  bare.  For  five  years  I 
have  been  fighting  for  my  life;  and  now  I'm  los 
ing;  everything  is  slipping  out  of  my  hands. 
While  you  talk  of  sapphires;  you  build  bedamned 
gardens  with  the  men  I  need  to  keep  us  alive;  and 
peacocks  and " 

He  stopped  as  abruptly  as  he  had  commenced, 
flooded  with  shame  at  the  fact  that  he  stood  before 
her  self-condemned;  that  she,  Gisela,  saw  in  him 
a  sham.  He  miserably  avoided  her  gaze,  and  was 
surprised  when  she  spoke,  in  an  unperturbed  warm 
voice : 

"Sit  down,  Alexander;  you  are  tired  and  excited." 
She  rose  and,  with  a  steady  hand,  forced  him  into 
a  chair.  "I  am  glad  that,  at  last,  you  told  me 
this,"  she  continued  evenly;  "for  now  we  can  face 
it,  arrange,  together.  It  can't  be  so  bad  as  you 
suppose.  Naturally  you  are  worn,  but  you  are  a 
very  strong  man;  I  have  great  faith  in  you." 

He  gazed  at  her  in  growing  wonderment;  here 
was  an  entirely  different  woman  from  the  Gisela 
who  had  chattered  about  Viennese  gowns.  He 
noted,  with  a  renewed  sense  of  security,  the  firm 
ness  of  her  lips,  her  level,  unfaltering  gaze.  He 
had  had  an  unformulated  conviction  that  in  crises 
women  wrung  their  hands,  fainted.  She  gesticu- 

[138] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

lated  toward  the  elaborate  furnishings,  including 
her  satin  array: 

"However  it  may  have  seemed,  I  don't  care  a 
bawbee  about  these  things!  I  never  did;  and  it 
always  annoyed  father  as  it  annoyed  you.  I  am 
sorry,  if  you  like.  But  at  last  we  understand  each 
other.  We  can  live,  fight,  intelligently." 

Gisela  knew;  regret,  pretense,  were  useless  now, 
and  curiously  in  that  knowledge  she  seemed  to 
come  closer  to  him;  he  had  a  new  sense  of  her 
actuality.  Yet  that  evening  she  not  only  refused 
to  listen  to  any  serious  statements,  but  played  and 
sang  the  most  frothy  Italian  songs. 


[139] 


XVI 

ON  the  day  following  he  felt  generally  up 
held.  His  old  sense  of  power,  of  dom 
ination,  his  contempt  for  petty  men  and 
competitions,  returned.  He  determined  to  go  to 
Pittsburgh  himself  and  study  the  labor  condi 
tions;  perhaps  secure  a  fresh,  advantageous  con 
nection.  He  was  planning  the  details  of  this  when 
a  man  he  knew  only  slightly,  by  sight,  as  connected 
with  the  coaling,  swung  unceremoniously  into  his 
office. 

"Mr.  Hulings,  sir,"  he  stammered,  "Wishon  has 
been  shot— killed." 

"Impossible!"  he  ejaculated. 

But  instantly  Alexander  Hulings  was  convinced 
that  it  was  true.  His  momentary  confidence, 
vigor,  receded  before  the  piling  adversities,  bent 
apparently  upon  his  destruction. 

"Yes,  his  body  is  coming  up  now.  All  we 
know  is,  a  watchman  saw  him  standing  at  a  win 
dow  of  the  Wooddrop  Mills  after  hours,  and  shot 
him  for  trespassing — spying  on  their  process." 

Alexander's  first  thought  was  not  of  the  man 
just  killed,  but  of  old  Conrad,  longer  dead.  He 
had  been  a  faithful,  an  invaluable,  assistant;  with 
out  him  Hulings  would  never  have  risen.  And 

[140] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

now  he  had  been  the  cause  of  his  son's  death!  A 
sharp  regret  seized  him,  but  he  grew  rapidly  calm 
before  the  excitement  of  the  inferior  before  him. 

"Keep  this  quiet  for  the  moment,"  he  com 
manded. 

"Quiet!"  the  other  cried.  "It's  already  known 
all  over  the  mountains.  Wishon's  workmen  have 
quit  coaling.  They  swear  they  will  get  Wood- 
drop's  superintendent  and  hang  him." 

"Where  are  they?"  Hulings  demanded. 

The  other  became  sullen,  uncommunicative. 
"We  want  to  pay  them  for  this,"  he  muttered. 
"No  better  man  lived  than  Wishon." 

Alexander  at  once  told  his  wife  of  the  accident. 
She  was  still  surprisingly  contained,  though  pale. 
"Our  men  must  be  controlled,"  she  asserted.  "No 
further  horrors!" 

Her  attitude,  he  thought,  was  exactly  right;  it 
was  neither  callous  nor  hysterical.  He  was  willing 
to  assume  the  burden  of  his  responsibilities.  It 
was  an  ugly,  a  regrettable,  occurrence;  but  men 
had  been  killed  in  his  employ  before — not  a  week 
passed  without  an  accident,  and  if  he  lost  his  head 
in  a  welter  of  sentimentality  he  might  as  well  shut 
down  at  once.  Some  men  lived,  struggled  up 
ward.  It  was  a  primary  part  of  the  business  of 
success  to  keep  alive. 

Gisela  had  correctly  found  the  real  danger  of 
their  position — the  thing  must  go  no  further. 
The  sky  had  clouded  and  a  cold  rain  commenced 

[141] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

to  fall.  He  could,  however,  pay  no  attention  to  the 
weather;  he  rose  from  a  partial  dinner  and  de 
parted  on  a  score  of  complicated  and  difficult  er 
rands.  But  his  main  concern,  to  locate  and  dom 
inate  the  mobbing  charcoal  burners,  evaded  his 
straining  efforts.  He  caught  rumors,  echoed 
threats;  once  he  almost  overtook  them;  yet,  with 
scouts  placed,  they  avoided  him.  • 

He  sent  an  urgent  message  to  John  Wooddrop, 
and,  uncertain  of  its  delivery,  himself  drove  in 
search  of  the  other;  but  Wooddrop  was  out  some 
where  in  his  wide  holdings;  the  superintendent 
could  not  be  located.  A  sense  of  an  implacable 
fatality  hung  over  him;  every  chance  turned 
against  him,  mocked  the  insecurity  of  his  boasted 
position,  deepened  the  abyss  waiting  for  his  sus 
pended  fall. 

He  returned  finally,  baffled  and  weary,  to  his 
house;  yet  still  tense  with  the  spirit  of  angry  com 
bat.  A  species  of  fatalism  now  enveloped  him  in 
the  conviction  that  he  had  reached  the  zenith  of 
his  misfortunes;  if  he  could  survive  the  present 
day.  ...  A  stableman  met  him  at  the  veranda. 

"Mrs.  Hulings  has  gone,"  the  servant  told  him. 
"A  man  came  looking  for  you.  It  seems  they  had 
Wooddrop's  manager  back  in  the  Mills  tract  and 
were  going  to  string  him  up.  But  you  couldn't  be 
found.  Mrs.  Hulings,  she  went  to  stop  it." 

An  inky  cloud  floated  nauseously  before  his  eyes 
— not  himself  alone,  but  Gisela,  dragged  into  the 

[142] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

dark  whirlpool  gathered  about  his  destiny!  He 
was  momentarily  stunned,  with  twitching  hands 
and  a  riven,  haggard  face,  remembering  the  sod 
den  brutality  of  the  men  he  had  seen  in  the  smoke 
of  charring,  isolated  stacks;  and  then  a  sharp  en 
ergy  seized  him. 

"How  long  back?"  Hulings  demanded. 

"An  hour  or  more,  perhaps  a  couple." 

Alexander  raged  at  the  mischance  that  had  sent 
Gisela  on  such  an  errand.  Nothing,  he  felt,  with 
Wooddrop's  manager  secured,  would  halt  the  char 
coal  burners'  revenge  of  Wishon's  death.  The 
rain  now  beat  down  in  a  heavy  diagonal  pour,  and 
twilight  was  gathering. 

"We  must  go  at  once  for  Mrs.  Hulings,"  he 
said.  Then  he  saw  Gisela  approaching,  accom 
panied  by  a  'small  knot  of  men.  She  walked 
directly  up  to  him,  her  crinoline  soggy  with  rain, 
her  hair  plastered  on  her  brow;  but  her  deathly 
pallor  drove  everything  else  from  his  observation. 
She  shuddered  slowly,  her  skirt  dripping  cease 
lessly  about  her  on  the  sod. 

"I  was  too  late!"  she  said  in  a  dull  voice. 
"They  had  done  it! "  She  covered  her  eyes,  moved 
back  from  the  men  beside  her,  from  him.  "Swing 
ing  a  little  ...  all  alone!  So  sudden — there, 
before  me!"  A  violent  shivering  seized  her. 

"Come,"  Alexander  Hulings  said  hoarsely; 
"you  must  get  out  of  the  wet.  Warm  things.  Im 
mediately!" 

[143] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

He  called  imperatively  for  Gisela's  maid,  and 
together  they  assisted  her  up  to  her  room.  Above, 
Gisela  had  a  long,  violent  chill;  and  he  sent  a 
wagon  for  the  doctor  at  Harmony. 

The  doctor  arrived,  and  mounted  the  stairs;  but, 
half  an  hour  later,  he  would  say  little.  Alexander 
Hulings  commanded  him  to  remain  in  the  house. 
The  lines  deepened  momentarily  on  the  former's 
countenance;  he  saw  himself  unexpectedly  in  a 
shadowy  pier  glass,  and  stood  for  a  long  while 
subconsciously  surveying  the  lean,  grizzled  coun 
tenance  that  followed  his  gaze  out  of  the  immate 
rial  depths.  "Alexander  Hulings,"  he  said  aloud, 
in  a  tormented  mockery;  "the  master  of — of  life!" 

He  was  busy  with  the  local  marshal  when  the 
doctor  summoned  him  from  the  office. 

"Your  wife,"  the  other  curtly  informed  him, 
"has  developed  pneumonia." 

Hulings  steadied  himself  with  a  hand  against  a 
wall. 

"Pneumonia!"  he  repeated,  to  no  one  in  par 
ticular.  "Send  again  for  John  Wooddrop." 

He  was  seated,  a  narrow,  rigid  figure,  waiting 
for  the  older  man,  in  the  midst  of  gorgeous  up 
holstery.  Two  facts  hammered  with  equal  per 
sistence  on  his  numbed  brain:  one  that  all  his  proj 
ects,  his  dream  of  power,  of  iron,  now  approached 
ruin,  and  the  other  that  Gisela  had  pneumonia. 
It  was  a  dreadful  thing  that  she  had  come  on  in  the 
Mills  tract!  The  Columbus  System  must  tri- 

[144] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

umphantly  absorb  all  that  he  had,  that  he  was  to 
be.  Gisela  had  been  chilled  to  the  bone;  pneu 
monia  !  It  became  difficult  and  then  impossible  to 
distinguish  one  from  the  other — Gisela  and  the 
iron  were  inexplicably  welded  in  the  poised  catas 
trophe  of  his  ambition. 

Alexander  Hulings  rose,  his  thin  lips  pinched, 
his  eyes  mere  sparks,  his  body  tense,  as  if  he  were 
confronting  the  embodied  force  that  had  checked 
him.  He  stood  upright,  so  still  that  he  might  have 
been  cast  in  the  metal  that  had  formed  his  vision 
of  power,  holding  an  unquailing  mien.  His  in 
extinguishable  pride  cloaked  him  in  a  final  con 
tempt  for  all  that  life,  that  fate,  might  do.  Then 
his  rigidity  was  assaulted  by  John  Wooddrop's 
heavy  and  hurried  entrance  into  the  room. 

Hulings  briefly  repeated  the  doctor's  pronounce 
ment.  Wooddrop's  face  was  darkly  pouched,  his 
unremoved  hat  a  mere  wet  film,  and  he  left  muddy 
exact  footprints  wherever  he  stepped  on  the  velvet 
carpet. 

"By  heaven!"  he  quavered,  his  arms  upraised. 

"If  between  us  we  have  killed  her "  His 

voice  abruptly  expired. 

As  Alexander  Hulings  watched  him  the  old 
man's  countenance  grew  livid,  his  jaw  dropped; 
he  was  at  the  point  of  falling.  He  gasped,  his 
hands  beating  the  air;  then  the  unnatural  color 
receded,  words  became  distinguishable:  "Gisela! 
.  .  .  Never  be  forgiven !  Hellish ! "  It  was  as  if 

[145] 


TUBAL    CAIN 

Death  had  touched  John  Wooddrop  on  the  shoul 
der,  dragging  a  scarifying  hand  across  his  face, 
and  then  briefly,  capriciously,  withdrawn. 

"Hulings!  Hulings,"  he  articulated,  sinking 
weakly  on  a  chair,  "we  must  save  her.  And,  any 
how,  God  knows  we  were  blind!"  He  peered  out 
of  suffused  rheumy  eyes  at  Alexander,  appalling 
in  his  sudden  disintegration  under  shock  and  the 
weight  of  his  years.  "I'm  done!"  he  said  trem 
ulously.  "And  there's  a  good  bit  to  see  to — 
patent  lawyer  tomorrow,  and  English  shipments. 
Swore  I'd  keep  you  from  it."  He  held  out  a  hand, 
"But  there's  Gisela,  brought  down  between  us  now, 
and — and  iron's  colder  than  a  daughter,  a  wife. 
We'd  best  cover  up  the  past  quick  as  we  can!" 

At  the  instant  of  grasping  John  Wooddrop's 
hand  Alexander  Hulings'  inchoate  emotion  shifted 
to  a  vast  realization,  blotting  out  all  else  from  his 
mind.  In  the  control  of  the  immense  Wooddrop 
resources  he  was  beyond,  above,  all  competition,  all 
danger.  What  he  had  fought  for,  persistently 
dreamed,  had  at  last  come  about — he  was  the 
greatest  Ironmaster  of  the  state! 


[146] 


* 


YB  67632 


528635 


v\ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


t 


